Of Magic and Assassins
by Nocturne of Eclipse
Summary: AU: Kicked out of the Dursley's home at a young age, one Harry Potter is taken in and raised by the Dark Brotherhood. With his completely different views of magic and eventual training in assassination, how will he react to this off Wizarding World?
1. The Beginning

Of Magic and Assassins

A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Dark Ketchum

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or the Elder Scrolls game series.

Note: This story is a cross-over between Harry Potter and Elder Scrolls (if you want a specific game, it would be Oblivion, though there will be some Morrowind references).

Other Note: Just for future reference, what happens in the Sanctuary only follows the game _loosely. _Therefore, Cheydenhall Sanctuary members are still alive, because they're awesome like that.

Other Other Note: x.x First HP fanfic, and despite how many I've read, I'm not really good with the beginning. My only hope is that it'll get better; I kind of felt like this chapter was rushed, so... bleh.

"_I WILL NOT HAVE ANY MORE OF THIS RUBBISH IN MY HOUSE!" A small boy, only four years of age, if even that, cowered as his large, obese uncle shouted at him, a fist raised. The boy didn't understand why he was being yelled at- after all, the old and worn teddy bear that had chased Dudley around hadn't been hurting him, and the boy had no idea how he could have caused it, anyways. "I DON'T CARE WHAT THAT DUMBLER- DUMBLEY- WHATEVER HIS NAME WAS SAID ABOUT YOU, YOU FREAK! I WILL NOT PUT UP WITH ANY MORE OF THIS- THIS- __**MAGIC**__!"_

_The boy's aunt gasped as her husband said the dreaded word- magic. Because in that specific house, Number 12, Privet Drive, anything out of the ordinary was as bad as an escaped murder convict. The family that resided there, the Dursleys, hated anything that they considered unnatural. This included their 4-year-old nephew (or, in Dudley's case, cousin), who had been showing signs of magic at an early age._

_Now, Vernon Dursley, ever 'practical', had thought that they could squash the magic out of his nephew- all they would have to do was keep him as downtrodden as possible until it had all left. Petunia, a little more versed in the ways of magic than her husband (as her sister had been a witch), knew that the magic wouldn't really leave; it would only be restrained by the boy. However, she reasoned, if he didn't believe in it, he would never be able to use it. And things had been fine until he turned three, when he had somehow started making small objects float around a room, much to his and Dudley's delight._

"_WE'VE HAD ENOUGH!" Vernon shouted. The boy flinched back, fearing he was about to be struck; however, his uncle did no more than grab him by the back of his shirt, picking him up, and carrying him towards the door. Petunia opened it, albeit a little hesitantly. Vernon shoved the small boy roughly out, causing him to fall in the snow-covered grass. "OUT WITH YOU! DON'T YOU DARE EVER DARKEN OUR DOORSTEP AGAIN!" The door was shut with a slam. The boy stared, wondering what had just happened. Shaking his head, he stood, his mind turning to one thought- well, okay, two thoughts. The first was that his glasses had fallen off and broken. The second was that he no longer had a home._

_He turned, making his way down the street, never looking back once. It was cold- very cold. Winter did that to life. He wanted to find some place warm, or at least some place to stay for a while. A few of the neighbors peered out of their windows as he made his way down the street, but did nothing more, and eventually turned back to whatever they had been doing as he passed. _

_After a few minutes of walking, the boy began to grow tired and slowed to a stop, climbing up to sit on a bench at Magnolia park. He rested for a moment, no thoughts coming to his mind whatsoever. Eventually he caught his breath and his mind turned to the important things. First, the boy reasoned, he should find a place to live. Somewhere warm, hopefully, as he was very cold at the moment. He tried to think of such a place to live at, but he didn't know anywhere he could actually go._

_And then it came to him- London. He remembered learning that a lot of people lived there in school. His mind began to race. He knew what time most of the buses to London came because of how often Aunt Petunia sent him to the stores there, and he also knew from these experiences that he could ride free because he was so young. The bus stop wasn't so far away, either, and it seemed about the right time of day for the bus to be there. He got off of the bench and ran towards the next stop, a brilliant plan forming in his head. He could get a house in London and he could do whatever he wanted, and eat whatever he fancied, and never have to do any chores- all without worrying about his Aunt and Uncle! And he would go to school and get stronger and finally fight Dudley on even footing! It was perfect!_

_Unfortunately, although the boy realized that food cost money, he did not understand that a house did, as well; nor did he realize he didn't have a source to get money from. He hopped onto the next bus after a couple minutes of waiting, and began his journey to the city._

* * *

_Two days._

_That was how long it took for the reality of his situation to sink in._

_Two weeks._

_That was how long he had been living on the streets of London. _

_The boy had gotten a house- it was a cardboard box in an alley. _

_The boy could eat whatever he wanted- whenever he had money and could afford it._

_The boy no longer had to do chores- he instead wandered the city looking for a bite to eat or spare change someone had dropped._

_The boy didn't have to worry about fighting Dudley- his new opponents were rats and pigeons, along with the occasional hobo that claimed to have seen that one pound note first. _

_The boy went to school- or, rather, he learned about living on the streets first-hand. _

_He occasionally rode the buses around, as they were fairly warmer than outside. Every now and then he thought he had seen someone following him, but dismissed it, and continued along his way._

_Currently, the boy was standing in a bakery with his weekly findings, trying to decide between half a stale sourdough loaf or half a stale wheat loaf. He found that he could get the bread cheaper if he got the older stuff, and could afford enough to keep him going for a little while longer. Hunger gnawed painfully at his stomach, and he knew he had to make a decision quickly. He selected the sourdough, as it had always been a favorite of his, and after thanking the cashier, made his way out of the bakery and down the street towards his alley. He had gotten used to walking longer distances than he used to, so a couple blocks were nothing to him now. _

_He passed a few familiar faces on his way home- Thomas, a black man who had gotten him out of a tight spot when he had tried to steal five pounds from a lady eating lunch outside of a cafe; Lizzie, a blond adolescent who had shared her bread with him, once; Crazy Mackerel, the crazy fisherman who had given him a strange gold coin that he hadn't been able to get any store to take as payment, yet- and greeted them as usual before slipping into his alley and into his box. He pulled his bread out of its bag and shooed off a few pigeons as he began to eat._

"_That certainly can't be enough to eat, child." The boy jumped slightly, startled, and dropped his bread. He looked up to meet the gaze of a tall man, wearing black robes with the hood pulled over his face, black gloves and boots. He wore a ring on one finger, and a pendant hung around his neck. The man was very pale, and his eyes a cold, frosty blue. He was intimidating, and staring at him, the boy was frightened, and said nothing. "You prefer silence, then? As do I, dear child, as do I. My name is Lucian Lachance. I have come bearing an… opportunity. An opportunity to join a rather unique family." At 'family', the boy perked up slightly. He gathered his courage._

"_A family? Really?" Lucian smirked slightly._

"_Indeed, child. If I am correct, your last experience with one didn't quite end well, did it?" he replied. The boy shook his head. "It is such a shame to see a child your age forced to fend for himself, but at the same time, your collected and calm handle of things is admirable." The boy blinked._

"_Uhm… thank you, Sir, I guess…."_

"_Ahh… I find your etiquette quite refreshing." Lucian looked the boy over for a quick second. "I think it would be wise to accept this offer, child. Your talents could make you quite an asset to our family."_

"_I would really like to be part of a family…," the boy said quietly. He bit his lip. "But my teacher always said we aren't supposed to follow strangers…."_

"_I am no stranger to you, my child," Lucian replied. "We have the same Mother." The boy's eyes widened at that._

"_You knew my mummy?"_

"_Indeed, child, I know her well. I have served the Night Mother for many years, now."_

"_The… Night Mother?"_

"_Yes; our unholy patron who watches as we carry out her will. She loves her children very much, you see." The boy considered this for a moment- this strange man said he knew the boy's mother. But Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had told him his parents had died in a car crash, and that was where he had gotten his scar from. _

"_If I come with you, will I get to see Mummy?" the boy asked. The question took Lucian slightly by surprise, but he kept his face carefully composed so as not to show it._

"_There is a chance you might, child, if you work hard enough to earn the right," he replied. The boy's brow furrowed._

"_I'll have to do chores?"_

"_Everyone in our family does. However, yours probably won't be as strenuous, as you are of a young age."_

"_Oh. Will I have any cousins, there?"_

"_No, we are a much closer family than that. You will have brothers and sisters, there."_

"_I've never had brothers and sisters, before. Are they nice?"_

"_Indeed, child, but make up your mind quickly." Lucian sighed. "I must leave soon, with you or without." The boy bit his lip. After a moment, he took a step forward and grabbed onto Lucian's hand._

"_I'll come." Lucian raised an eyebrow- only slightly._

"_Very good." He pulled the child along with him, walking quickly. "What is your name, child?" _

"_Uhm…." The boy bit his lip once more. Well, Uncle Vernon usually called him 'boy'…. Aunt Petunia called him 'freak'…. Dudley never really called him by a name…. Oh, wait, at school, his teacher called him 'Harry'! That was his name! "I'm Harry, Sir…." Lucian frowned at that._

"_Harry? Really?" he replied with obvious distaste. The boy's face fell. Was he not supposed to tell him that name? Was there something wrong with it?_

"_U-uhm…. Yes, Sir…."_

"_Your relatives are cruel to give you such a name…. How does the name 'Ma'rik' sound to you?" The boy thought on that. Maybe everyone who joined this family got a new name. He didn't want to be different, he wanted to fit in…. And so, he compromised- he would take on the new name, but he would always remember his first one._

"_I like it, Sir," he replied._

"_Then Ma'rik you shall be."_

_Lucian spoke very little on the way to their destination, mostly explaining about Sithis and the Night Mother to the boy in a few sentences. Eventually they came to an ancient, boarded up house, in a town that was definitely not London and that the boy had not realized they had gotten to, where Lucian led the boy into the basement and explained to him how to gain access through a door with a mural on it that seemed to glow red. The boy was introduced to his new family, and was initiated into their cult- the Dark Brotherhood- through the 'second method', as they called it, which seemed to be more of an excuse to party than anything else._

_Over the next few days, he became acquainted with his new family and worked out his own daily routine. Lucian left, then, and rarely returned over the years. _

_The boy was well taught by his family, learning to fence and use daggers and clubs and all other sorts of weaponry. It was there that he was introduced to magic, and taught how to harness his Magicka and use it to heal himself, attack enemies, and other purposes, ranging from all of the different branches- Conjuration, Mysticism, Illusion, Alteration, and even a bit of Alchemy. _

_He was eventually given the 'Murderer' status, but Lucian, who had grown quite fond of the boy over the years, forbade anyone to promote him until he came of age, so he was never given anything too difficult to do. _

_The boy had finally found a home and a family that loved him. He was at peace._

* * *

Ma'rik awoke with a yawn. He blinked and remained in bed for a moment before sitting up groggily. Everyone else seemed to be awake, out, and about- all of their beds were empty, even M'raaj-Dar's, and he usually liked to sleep in on Sundas. Odd.

Ma'rik pulled on his small-sized Shrouded Armor and made his way over to the food table, grabbing an apple. He inspected it thoroughly to make sure it wasn't one of those poison apples Teinaava liked to use, and, apparently satisfied, took a bite out of it. He stretched and made his way out of the Dark Brotherhood Quarters and into the main hallway to start his morning training.

He did not seem to be expecting the entire residence of the Sanctuary to suddenly drop their ninety-five percent Chameleon spells and shout 'SURPRISE!' at him, and he jumped slightly. He quickly recomposed himself.

"What's the occasion?" he asked, slightly curious.

"Do you not remember, hatchling?" Teinaava asked. Teinaava was an Argonian, a 'beast-man' race, as the citizens of Cyrodiil often called them, and resembled something along the lines of lizards or salamanders, with dark red scales and spines growing from his head in place of hair, although he usually always had his hood up. His Argonian accent was quite thick. "It is your birthday, today."

"…." Ma'rik thought on that for a moment. "So it is. Well, thank you, everyone. It's great you went out of your way to do this, and everything…."

"You _better_ appreciate it…," M'raaj-Dar muttered grumpily. Ma'rik smirked slightly. M'raaj-Dar always got like that when he woke up too early. M'raaj-Dar was a Khajiit, another 'beast-man' race, though, unlike the Argonians, resembled lions. M'raaj (no one actually called him 'M'raaj' to his face, he hated that) had the typical Khajiit slitted, yellow cat-like eyes, and wore a headband to keep his dreadlocks back.

"How old are you today, Ma'rik?" a green-haired Wood Elf asked. He was short, as all male Wood Elves were, and looked to be no older than eighteen. His eyes were a soft lavender. He was Kazuki, the resident Werewolf, who seemed to be anything _but_ a killer.

"Well…." Another thing for Ma'rik to think about. He didn't quite keep track of these kinds of things very often. "Eleven, I think."

"A wonderful age!" Gogron Gro-Bulmog laughed, grinning. "Not many kids who join the Dark Brotherhood live that long, you know!" Gogron was an orc, green-skinned with fang-like teeth, immense strength, and dreads, as well. He wore, unlike the rest of the Family, heavy armor- his approach to assassinations was pretty much just attacking, with little to no sneaking.

"I remember one child who went out to kill an Imperial Legion Guard," Teinaava added. He chuckled a bit. "Ended up being torn apart by a slaughterfish. Do you remember that, Vincente?"

"Ahh, yes, I do remember." Vincente smiled a bit. Vincente had been a normal Imperial male, once- but that was probably at least five hundred years ago. Now, he was a Vampire, and he definitely looked the part, too, with his dark hair, long enough to be pulled back and tied into the rogue knot style, high cheekbones, a gaunt face, and the typical pale Vampire eyes. Surprisingly, he got on well with Kaz, although Ma'rik vaguely remembered hearing that Werewolves and Vampires were supposed to hate each other. "I believe Antoinetta found the poor child in pieces. Such a shame, she had a bit of promise…."

"_You_ won't be killed by a slaughterfish, will you, hatchling?" Teinaava asked, obviously teasing.

"Only as long as M'raaj-Dar doesn't feed me to one," Ma'rik replied, grinning.

"_Ha ha…_." M'raaj looked grumpier than he had been. "Can we hurry this up? I want to go back to bed." Ocheeva rolled her eyes. She was an Argonian as well, but with small spikes growing on the sides of her head rather than the top, and she had decorated them with a cloth that hung from them. Her scales were more of a swampy green color than Teinaava's, which Ma'rik always assumed had something to do with gender, but never bothered to ask about. Ocheeva and Teinaava were twins, and the fact that both worked in the same Sanctuary proved that they were almost inseparable.

"Oh, very well, M'raaj-Dar. Ma'rik, our beloved Brother, although you are young and small, you walk along the same level as many grown men. We have seen fit to finally give to you your Contract Weapon, chosen for you by the Night Mother," she said. "Speaker Lucien has agreed. As Mistress of this Sanctuary, I present to you this dagger- the Blade of Woe." She held the sheathed blade out, and Ma'rik took it gingerly before pulling the ornate dagger out and holding it up to the light to inspect it, his eyes widening.

"Such good quality…." He turned it over. "It has a Seal on it…. Do all contract weapons come with a Seal?" A Seal, of course, bound the magic on enchanted items so the magic could not be used. Ocheeva nodded. He smiled. "From the depth of my heart, I thank you- and Sithis and the Night Mother, as well."

"Well, now that this is taken care of…." M'raaj turned and began walking back towards the sleeping quarters, slouching slightly. Ma'rik and the others laughed.

"I've got something for you, too, hatchling," Teinaava said, winking. He reached into his bag and produced a tome with the symbol of Oblivion on it. "I got it from the Mage's Guild." Ma'rik's eyes lit up as he accepted it from Teinaava, thanking him, and cracked it open instantly. It was a book on Conjuration- while he had learned the theory of it from M'raaj-Dar, no one in the Sanctuary was too adept in it, mostly because there was no need to have an agent of Oblivion running wild and causing a ruckus in the middle of a Contract. Ma'rik, however, was intrigued by it. "Have fun, hatchling." Teinaava chuckled and gave him a quick pat on the head before heading off to read. The others, too, soon wandered off, Vincente to sate his need to feed, Ocheeva to go fill Gogron in on a Contract, and soon, only Kaz was left, sniffing at the Dark Guardian, who just happened to be passing by at the moment. Ma'rik sat down against a column and began reading at the first chapter: Turning the Undead.

After about an hour or two of reading, he could successfully cast the Turn Undead. He was about to move onto the Bound Gauntlets when, oddly enough, Lucien came in through the basement entrance. Ma'rik looked up, smiled, and then went back to reading.

"What are you doing, Ma'rik?" Lucien asked, a bit of snap in his voice. Ma'rik flinched slightly, not used to so cold a greeting from the Speaker, but held his book up all the same.

"Learning to do Conjuration. Teinaava got it for me for my birthday, Night Mother bless him…." He grinned broadly. "If I keep working at it, I might be able to summon an Atronach by next year." Lucien nodded in approval, though a little stiffly, and strode past him towards Ocheeva's quarters. Ma'rik shuddered a little as he passed, but buried his nose back in his book to hide it. A few minutes later he caught snippets of a conversation in Argonian- he wasn't exactly within hearing range, though, so he could only make out a few words like 'letter', 'magic', and his name. Lucien sure sounded aggravated about it, whatever it was.

"Ma'rik!" The boy jumped when the Speaker shouted his name.

"….Yeah?"

"Come here!"

"….'Kay." He knew better than to ignore an order from Lucien, and so, he marked his page, shut his book, and stood, walking calmly yet quickly into Ocheeva's quarters. "You called, Speaker Lucien?" The Speaker rolled his eyes.

"Ma'rik, now is not the time for games."

"Sorry."

"Now, my child, tell me…. Have you ever heard of a place called 'Hogwarts'?" Ma'rik blinked, cocking his head.

"No, but that has got to be the worst name whatever it is could have. I thought _The Drunken Dragon_ was bad, but, this takes the cake…."

"The day we met in London, little one…. Do you remember? You told me your name was Harry. What was your last name?" Ma'rik blinked, his brow furrowing in thought.

"...My… last name?" Lucien nodded. "Wow, that was so long ago…. I'm honestly not sure. I think it might have started with a 'P'….." The Speaker's eyes darkened. "….Is that bad?"

"This… _Hogwarts_… (Ma'rik shuddered at the name) has invited one 'Harry Potter' to, apparently, learn the art of magic," he said after a moment. Ma'rik blinked.

"Oh! Oh, yeah! 'Potter'! Yeah, that was it!" He nodded. Lucien sighed.

"You realize that we can't possibly let you go. Now that you have your Contract Weapon, you are supposed to be starting to take Contracts….."

"Mm… yeah…. But a school to learn magic from…." The boy blinked wistfully. "That would be so cool."

"So join the Mages' Guild!" Lucien sighed, exasperated.

"But they don't teach you to use magic," Ocheeva pointed out. Lucien cast her a glare, and she shrugged before continuing in her raspy Argonian voice. "You aren't here too often, Lucien, so you wouldn't know- but Ma'rik is in love with the Arcane arts."

"But he needs to be fulfilling _Contracts_!" The Speaker's eyes blazed with a determined fire. "He was given the Blade of Woe for a _reason_!"

"But he is young," Ocheeva pointed out. "Young, and although he is quick and agile, he is not as strong as the others in our family. He cannot fulfill as many Contracts so young."

"Yeah!" Ma'rik readily agreed, nodding. "Oh, and, if it's anything like I remember preschool being in Surrey, I'll get summers off, at least, so I'll be able to fulfill some Contracts, then." Lucien sighed angrily.

"Very well. Come." He turned and strode out, back towards the well exit. Ma'rik blinked, and didn't move. Lucien didn't even turn back. "I said 'come'! We will be meeting the Headmaster of the school to discuss the arrangements. Grinning, Ma'rik followed him.

So they had a meeting with the Headmaster? Lucien did a good job pretending he hadn't wanted to let him go…

Lucien had ended up leading Ma'rik to Fort Farragut, where they passed by Shadowmere and her colt, Black Phoenix, and around back to the hollowed-out tree, where they descended the ladder into Lucien's sleeping quarters. The fireplace was lit, providing some warmth in the cold underground bastion. This was mystifying to Ma'rik, who knew quite well that Lucien preferred the cold.

As they waited, Ma'rik took a moment to look himself over in a nearby mirror.

His skin was pale from living in the Sanctuary- he had rarely ever felt the need to go outside. His jet-black hair reached his upper back and contrasted perfectly with it, and his emerald green eyes shone brilliantly behind his bangs. His hood was pulled back, as he only ever wore it when he, Kaz, and Teinaava went treasure-hunting. His Shrouded Armor was black as the void, but cheerfully light-weight. Cocking his head, he pulled a piece of twine from his pocket and proceeded to tie his hair back into a Rogue Knot, leaving his odd, lightning-bolt shaped scar exposed to the world. Lucien cast him a glance as he did this, and also a slight smirk, to which Ma'rik replied with a good-natured roll of his eyes.

"What, may I ask, are we waiting for, Brother?" the pale youth asked curiously. Ma'rik had always called Lucien (as well as the other members of their Family) 'Brother'- even though the man had always been more of a father figure to him. After all, there was only one mother and one father in the Dark Brotherhood- the Night Mother and Sithis.

"Apparently, some form of Fast-Travel," Lucien replied, shrugging. "And, also, if need be, the Listener." Ma'rik's eyes widened.

"The Listener?" he repeated in awe. He had only ever seen the Listener but once, when he was almost seven- he was a Khajiit, taller than M'raaj-Dar, with fierce yellow eyes and a snow-white mane. He had seemed perpetually angry, glaring, but according to Teinaava, the Listener always looked like that after a long, drawn-out fight. A flame atronach had been following him at the time, as well as a Dark Guardian. Teinaava had also told him that the Listener had summoned them- thus igniting Ma'rik's passion of the Arcane arts.

"Indeed. That's what I said, isn't it?" Lucien smirked slightly. "Ah, look, Ma'rik…." Ma'rik turned his gaze to the fire which- interestingly- had become a bright, emerald green, roaring higher and higher, until a funny-looking man appeared in it, spinning, and once his form became clear, stepped out of the fire.

He was an older gentleman, wearing the most peculiar purple robes and floppy, pointed hat, both decorated with stars and moons of a lavender color. His hair was white and long, and his beard was tucked into his belt. High-heeled boots, and bright, sparkling blue eyes shining behind a pair of half-moon spectacles completed the look. Ma'rik tried hard not to laugh.

"Hello," the man greeted pleasantly. He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a bag filled with yellow candies. "Lemon drop?" Lucien blinked dryly, unamused. The man shrugged and offered the bag then to Ma'rik, who accepted one and popped it into his mouth. The man looked as if he felt rather accomplished.

"So… are you the Headmaster for this… Hogwarts?" Lucien asked.

"Indeed, I am," the man replied, smiling calmly. "My name is Albus Dumbledore. You must be Mr. Lachance, Harry's current guardian."

"'Albus'…. Doesn't that come from the Latin word for 'white'?" Ma'rik asked. Lucien shot him a glare. The Dumbledore fellow seemed unbothered by this, indeed, for he even smiled slightly and nodded.

"Ita vero," he replied, obviously a Latin affirmative. "It does, indeed. Are you well-versed in Latin, Harry?"

"'Ma'rik', Sir, please," Ma'rik said, frowning slightly. "'Ma'rik' is my name, not 'Harry'. But, yes, Sir, Vincente taught me. He always said a man uneducated in Latin is a man throughly uneducated." Dumbledore frowned slightly as well.

"Surely you'd rather be called by your _real _name?" Lucien glared at the Headmaster.

"'Ma'rik' _is_ his real name, you old coot," he snapped. Ma'rik winced slightly at that and gave Lucien a pleading look before trying to once again handle things on his own.

"Sir, I would much rather go by 'Ma'rik', please. I'm much more used to it, it would save everyone so much trouble…." He bit his lip. Dumbledore sighed and then went back to smiling.

"Very well, then, Ma'rik. It's very good that you are versed in Latin- that is the basis for magic, you know."

"Er…." Actually, Ma'rik thought, the basis for magic was channelling your core Magicka into power provoked by thought, but, well, he didn't want to get into another 'argument' so soon. "Yes, Sir. It sounds wonderful."

"So you _do_ want to go, then?" Dumbles asked pleasantly. Ma'rik nodded. "Excellent! Then I shall find you an escort to take you to Di-!"

"Hold on a moment, there," Lucien practically growled. "This isn't going to be so easy. There are things that must be worked out." Dumbledore looked confused.

"Such as?"

"Matters concerning our unique family, Headmaster Dumbledore." The three blinked- neither Lucien nor Ma'rik had said that. In fact, that voice had come from the far, dark side of the room. They turned.

A Khajiit, tall and well-built, stood in the shadows, his ears pricked forward for maximum hearing capacity. His mane was left free, a bright snow-white that perfectly matched tawny fur. His eyes were slitted, but as opposed to the normal Khajiit bright yellow, they were pale and almost a wheat color. While normally black robes were his custom, he was wearing a luxurious blue-and-green shirt with long white sleeves, silk pants, and boots that Teinaava had called the _Boots of Jackben Imble_.

"Please forgive my lateness," the Khajiit said with the typical accent, inclining his head slightly. "I was forestalled by other urgent matters."

"Ah, it's no problem," Dumbledore said jovially. He pulled the lemon drops back out and offered them to the Khajiit, who, amusingly, took a few and popped them into his mouth.

"Listener…," Lucien groaned under his breath. Ma'rik stared on in total awe.

"I cannot help it if I had to feed," the Listener sniffed, mistaking the source of Lucien's irritation. "It is bad for my complexion if I do not."

"So you're Listener?" Dumbledore asked. "What matters were you speaking of?"

"Family matters," the Listener replied, oblivious to Ma'rik's staring. "You know, of course, of our Brotherhood, do you not?"

"Well…. yes, in fact, I do." Dumbledore frowned. "A ring of assassins, aren't you?" The Listener snorted slightly, but nodded all the same.

"Yes, you could say that. Because of that, our family members undertake a strict training regimen…. I would like for Ma'rik to continue his training while he is at school." The Listener inclined his head again respectfully. "I hope you will consider this request, for he will not be allowed to attend your school otherwise." Ma'rik noticed with a slight sinking feeling that this was not the way the Headmaster had intended things to go.

"What training would he need beyond what is taught at my school?" the Headmaster asked skeptically.

"What do you thi-?" Lucien began to ask, but the Listener cut him off.

"There are things at your school that you will not teach, I am sure, such as how to ride a horse or fight horseback," he said evenly. "I am just as certain that you will not teach hand-to-hand, the blade, blunts, or marksmanship. There are many things we teach our Family that you do not teach yours."

"How would we teach him, then?"

"I would be more than willing to have the members of Cheydenhall Sanctuary take turns working with him on school grounds, provided there is room for them to stay."

"Of course there would be. I suppose as long as it doesn't get in the way of his studies at school…."

"I can assure you it won't." They went on like this for a while, chatting over the various arrangements that would have to be made for the members: Vincente would need to be able to feed at least once every three days, Kazuki would only be able to come onto the grounds if they could get the Wolfsbane potion made for him, Gogron was not allowed to hug anyone or play leap-frog with anyone, Hagrid would be able to take care of a couple of horses no problem, and on and on, leaving Ma'rik bored out of his mind. After a moment, he began reciting all of the things he'd heard the Listener had done in his head, starting with the legendary Purging of the Brotherhood.

He had just started imagining what the battle between the Traitor the the Listener must have been like when someone said his name, and he snapped to attention.

"Huh?" Almost. Lucien face-palmed and sighed.

"I was just asking if you were sure about this, cub," the Listener repeated patiently. "This is not a decision to make lightly, I'm sure you know."

"Oh." Ma'rik blinked, tilting his head slightly. "Right. Very big decision. Well, like Ocheeva said, the Guild doesn't exactly _teach_ you, they just make you buy the books and expect you to learn it yourself….. Besides, that whole 'don't kill people thing'….." Dumbledore seemed a bit uncomfortable that Ma'rik would refuse to join a group for the rule of not killing things. "So, yes, I'd enjoy going."

"Now… what was this 'Di' that you were going to insist on having Ma'rik taken to?" the Listener asked.

"Ah, yes, Diagon Alley," Dumbledore replied. "I'll be making arrangements for one of our staff to escort him there to purchase his school supplies."

"Why can't you just take him right now?" Lucien grumbled. The Headmaster smiled pleasantly.

"I've actually a meeting to attend with my faculty for the upcoming year." His eyes had that odd twinkle in them, again, and he shook Ma'rik's hand warmly before doing the same with the Listener, and a rather resentful Lucien. "It was a pleasure meeting you all. I'll be seeing you soon, Harry."

"My name is Ma'rik!" Ma'rik called after him as he threw a handful of strange powder into the fire, turning it green once more, and disappearing in it. "Damn it… I swear, if people insist on calling me '_Harry_' of all things….."

"Speaking of training, Ma'rik," Lucien finally said, "I do believe you're missing your marksmanship lessons with Talaendril."

"Nah." Ma'rik waved his concerns off with a hand. "She's in Kvatch."


	2. In Which Lucien and Ma'rik are Oblivious

**A/N: x.x I know I took forever I'm sorry school is taking up my life right now plzkthx.**

**QwQ Thank you all for the faves and reviews. I hope this story continues to entertain you. Special thanks to New Politics for this chapter, because their music Gave Me Hope (check 'em out, they're an alternative band from Denmark, actual title of the song is **_**Give**_** Me hope :P).**

Ma'rik stared intently at the dagger hilt he clenched tightly in one fist, his face slightly red as he struggled to bring it into his plane of existence.

Conjuration was a lot harder than he'd previously thought, and the physical strain using so much Magicka was putting on his body was starting to wear him out. Before he had left Fort Farragut to return to the Sanctuary, he had asked, rather shyly, if he could see the Listener conjure something- anything at all, really- so he could see it in action. Lucien had been about to protest, but the Listener had simply chuckled and inclined his head slightly, grinning. He had lifted his hand and manipulated his Magicka with ease, summoning a Daedra Lord from one of the planes of Oblivion. Ma'rik had felt rather resolved after that.

"Ugh... put more into it, Ma'rik," M'raaj-Dar grunted. "That is no where near enough to bind a dagger."

"Let's see _you_ try," Ma'rik replied grumpily, stopping altogether. "I won't get this if I don't break every now and then."

"Keep working." M'raaj bopped him lightly on the head. "Taking a break right now won't get you very far."

"Can't I just move onto the Bound Helm?"

"Pft. If you cannot get more than the hilt of the dagger, then you will get no where with the helm."

"Thanks for your support..." Ma'rik glared down at the hilt, aggravated, and grunted as he began to pump more Magicka into it. His eyes brightened as a small section of the actual blade began to materialize, wavering slightly as it was brought forth through the different planes and ever closer towards his. In fact, it looked so clear, now, it seemed as if it were almost in his own plane. Ma'rik smiled broadly and-

"Hatchling, there is someone at the Speaker's fort who is asking for you."

Ma'rik's eye twitched as he lost his concentration, and the blade bit vanished. M'raaj-Dar smirked and hastily turned his laugh into a cough when Ma'rik glared at him. Teinaava raised his scaly brow in amusement.

"I wonder who it is... probably that Dumbledore man...," Ma'rik mused as he pushed himself to his feet. Teinaava shook his head.

"No, Lucien said Dumbledore was an old man. This one is young. Maybe in his thirties." The Argonian shrugged. "Sinister feel from him, Hatchling. Be careful." Ma'rik grinned.

"Don't worry about me, Teinaava," he said. "I learn from the best." With a tip of a non-existent hat, he hopped to his feet and headed towards the well, climbing up the ladder and out into Cheydenhall. It was a wonderful day, with bright blue skies and an eye-burning sun; Ma'rik made sure to pull his hood low over his face to keep the harmful rays out of his eyes as he headed towards the western gate, ignoring the pleas of beggars and the shouts of Guards who found yet more law violators who needed to either pay the court a fine or serve their sentences. Thankfully, Ma'rik had never been in trouble with the law. The Nine Divines even still liked him. Sorta.

After a brief encounter with M'aiq the Liar ("M'aiq wishes he had a stick made out of fishies to give to you. Sadly, he does not."), Ma'rik made his way hastily into the back entrance of Ft. Farragut and descended the rope ladder, closing the hatch behind him.

"Welcome back, Ma'rik." Lucien was standing off to the side, staring at the tall, black-haired man who was off standing by the fire with his arms crossed.

"Ma'rik?" the man snorted. "What sort of name is _that_?"

"A Khajiitan name," Lucien replied coldly. "The name of a proud warrior."

"Well, if it's _Potter's_ brat, of _course_ he'd be arrogant...," the man murmured. "Come, Potter. Dumbledore has instructed me to take you to Diagon Alley."

"Uhm... Sir..." Ma'rik winced. "Really, I don't get why everyone insists on calling me by that name, but I much prefer _my_ name... Ma'rik..." The man raised an eyebrow. "Er... Sir... If you don't mind me asking, what's your name?" The man was silent for a moment.

"Professor Snape," the man- Snape- replied. "I will be your Potions Professor at Hogwarts." Ma'rik winced at the word "Hogwarts" and shuddered. Snape's eyes narrowed slightly as he stared at the young assassin, before he turned back to the fire. "Hurry up, Potter, we don't have much time before the Ministry shuts down the floo."

"Floo?" Ma'rik repeated. What the hell was a floo?

"The fire." Ma'rik wrinkled his nose at the obvious contempt in the reply, but said nothing more. Snape grabbed Ma'rik's arm and pulled him into the fire after throwing some odd powder into it, causing it to roar higher, an odd emerald color, just as it had when the Headmaster had come to visit. He opened his mouth to ask Snape a question about the anomaly, but instead inhaled a cluster of soot, and began to cough. He barely heard the words "Diagon Alley!" shouted into the flame before everything began to spin, faster and faster, until he began to feel sick and had to close his eyes, grabbing Snape's robes to keep him steady. Suddenly, the spinning stopped, and he immediately let go of Snape's robes, only to stagger forward. He was immediately assaulted on all sides by people, jostling him this way and that, until a hand grabbed him by his hood and pulled him out into a less busy section of the street.

"Th-thank you!" Ma'rik gasped. He quickly rebalanced himself and looked up to see Snape's smirking face.

"Watch your step, Potter," the Professor said. "One would think you've never travelled by Floo, before."

"I haven't," Ma'rik replied. "And I don't think I ever will, again." Snape's smirked broadened and he turned, swooping off down the street with his robes billowing menacingly behind him. Ma'rik rolled his eyes and followed him, taking a moment to glance around at the shops.

The names were all odd, such things as _Twilfitt & Tatting's_ and _Flourish and Blotts_, which seemed to be a clothing shop and a book shop, respectively. Then there was a shop selling, of all things, owls, and another one with all sorts of odd gizmos, spinning and shaking and lighting up and whistling, and one with dusty old windows that he couldn't see into at all.

"Sir?" Ma'rik asked after a moment. "Where exactly are we?"

"Diagon Alley," Snape replied abruptly. "London."

"That doesn't sound like it would be in Cyrodiil."

"It's not." A large marble building now loomed before them- Ma'rik gazed up at it in awe. _Gringott's_, it was called. An odd, short creature with a pointed nose and clawed fingers stood by the door, opening it for them as they passed.

"So if it's not in Cyrodiil," Ma'rik said after a moment, "then where is it?" Snape glanced at him as they stopped to stand in line.

"It's in England." Upon seeing the look on Ma'rik's face that screamed another question was about to be asked, he beat him to the punch. "And, no, I don't know where it is in relation to Cyrodiil. I am just as clueless about Cyrodiil's location as you are of London's." Apparently he had been hoping for the end of Ma'rik's questions, but this was not exactly the case.

"Why not?" Ma'rik could see Snape repressing the urge to groan, and found a bit of amusement in the fact that he could annoy this dark stranger simply with constant, persistent questions.

"According to Dumbledore, the entire continent is unplottable."

"What does that mean?"

"Do you know _nothing_?" Snape snapped.

"Do _you_?" Ma'rik countered.

"_Unplottable_ means it is a location that cannot be mapped in relation to other landmarks," the professor sighed. "For instance, you will never find a map that shows both Great Britain and Cyrodiil, thus allowing you to get to one from the other."

"...Well, that sure sounds anti-climatic," Ma'rik commented. "I thought it would be something cooler like this was some sort of alternate dimension, or maybe something having to do with some large metal flying form of transportation manned by a Skooma dealer, an aspiring Blade, a princess, a man made of metal, a smaller metal barrel-like thing, and a large bipedal dog-like creature that could take us between planets! Oh, wow, that would make a great play, I should _totally_ write it... What would be a good name...? Oh, I got it, _Galaxy Battles_!" Snape, looking thoroughly amused by this small rant, shook his head as they moved forward in line, finally arriving at the desk. Another of the wicked-looking creatures stared at them with utter contempt, obviously waiting for them to state their business.

"We're here to access Mr. Potter's vault." Snape said "Potter" with a sneer.

"Ah," the creature said. "And does Mr. Potter have his _key_?"

"Lucien said I'm not supposed to give it to anyone who isn't in the Brotherhood," Ma'rik immediately said. Snape rolled his eyes and pulled a key out of one of his pockets, handing it abruptly to the creature, who looked it over carefully before nodding.

"Very well. Griphook!" A third creature appeared, Griphook, and took the key from the other one before beckoning them on.

"This way," he said. "It'll be a longer cart ride down, this one." He herded the two into a wooden, wheeled cart, and pulled the side door closed behind them. Ma'rik could feel him manipulating his Magicka expertly, setting the cart into motion, picking up more and more speed, taking random turns that he didn't even bother keeping track of. Once or twice he thought he saw a dragon, but then rethought that and deemed it impossible- according to M'aiq the Liar, the only dragons that came this close to the surface were invisible.

The cart eventually came to abrupt stop, and Griphook opened the side door again, hopping out and heading to one of the vaults. Ma'rik and Snape followed.

"Erm, excuse me, Mr. Griphook?" Ma'rik blinked at the odd creature.

"Yes?" Griphook replied absent-mindedly, inserting the key into a small keyhole in the large, stone door.

"What race are you, exactly? I can't say I've ever seen your kind, before." Griphook merely gave him a fleeting, incredulous look. After a moment, however, it seemed as though he decided to humor him.

"I'm a goblin."

"...You don't look like any goblin I've ever seen." Snape shot Ma'rik an exasperated glance, and Ma'rik hastily continued. "I mean, I've only ever run into them in caves- they're big, ugly, stupid, and they smell horribly. You're like their exact opposite."

"_Those_?" Griphook snorted. "I've heard of them. Those cave-dwellers are a disgrace to the rest of us, so horribly backwards. They can't metalwork or bank to save their life."

"Wish they could," Ma'rik sighed. "Then I wouldn't have to kill them."

"You're doing the world a favor." Griphook patted Ma'rik's forearm comfortingly- friendly, even. Snape looked rather surprised. Griphook turned the key and placed one long, wicked claw in a groove on the door, dragging his claw down along it slowly. The door whirred for a moment before it opened slowly, revealing a mountain of gold behind it. Ma'rik's eyes widened.

"Whoa." He glanced to Snape. "Whoever this belongs to is a lucky man. Think of all the jobs they had to do and caves and mines they had to raid!"

"...Potter... this is _yours_," Snape said after a moment, raising an eyebrow. Ma'rik ignored the "Potter" part and focused on more interesting matters.

"...Uh... no. No way. It can't be. Can it?" He looked about to have a heart-attack. "I don't even think Ocheeva makes enough to have a fortune like this! This is... this is on par with the counts! How? How do I have this much without even having to _do_ anything?"

"Your parents left it for you." Snape glanced him over wearily. "Hurry up and bag some, go on." Griphook handed Ma'rik a small pouch, which he filled- many more times over than it could hold, of course, just like the ones back home in Cyrodiil- and stored in his Magicka pockets. He was glad that Magicka could be manipulated this way. Honestly, he didn't know how people would be able to carry so much with them if they weren't able to stow them in rifts created by their Magicka.

Once they finished in Gringotts, Griphook took them back up to the surface, and after a friendly parting handshake with Ma'rik ("Do keep me updated on those cave-dwellers you kill, and if you ever need a weapon made, let me know."), returned to his job. Snape led Ma'rik out of the building and down the street, looking thoroughly confused.

"What's wrong?" Ma'rik asked after a moment.

"Goblins hate wizards," Snape replied. "I don't understand why that one was so... _friendly_ with you."

"Oh. That's easy." Ma'rik smiled. "I'm not a wizard."

"...Of course not." Snape simply shook his head and steered Ma'rik through the streets to the dirty-windowed shop they had passed earlier.

"What's this place for, Sir?"

"Wands." Without another word, Snape pushed him inside. It was a nice shop, small and dark, and filled completely with long, thin boxes. Ma'rik looked around in awe.

"Ah... I was wondering when I would be meeting you, Mr. Potter-Lachance..." Ma'rik jumped, and turned, eyes wide, to find an old man with large pale eyes smiling at him.

"...You knew my name..." He turned to Snape. "See? _He_ calls me by my name, even if he added 'Potter' on the front! Why can't anyone else?"

"That has nothing to do with anything," Snape dismissed. "Ollivander-?" The pale man cut him off.

"Ahh, yes, Professor Snape, I remember the day you came to get _your_ wand very well. Ten inches, ash, powdered Grindylow horn, am I correct?" he asked, a knowing twinkle in his eye.

"Yes. Aerodynamic, offensively powerful, but lacking slightly in the defense department." Snape nodded. "It serves me well. However, this is not what I've come to discuss- Potter needs his wand."

"Of course, of course! Mr. _Lachance_ (Ma'rik grinned as Ollivander used the preferred name), please stand over here." He hopped onto the stool Ollivander indicated and watched curiously as he tapped a tape measure with one of the so-called 'wands' (honestly, what was a random wooden stick gonna do for him?). It began to take a series of measures that seemed useful until it began measuring around his head and taking his pants measurements. "Hm... now... let's begin..." There were a lot of wands in that shop. Ma'rik had gone through precisely twenty-three before Ollivander paused. "...Perhaps... this one..." He strode into the back and pulled out a long box and stared at it for a moment. "I wonder..." He brought it back to Ma'rik. "Eleven inches, holly, phoenix tail feather. Go on." He handed the wand over. Slowly, Ma'rik took it. He gave it a short flick.

_DOIK!_

Ollivander was now standing on his head. Both Snape and Ma'rik seemed amused by this. Ollivander did not.

"This must be the Wand of Pacci," Ma'rik said after a moment.

"I don't believe it is the wand that suits you, either way," Ollivander replied, now back on his feet. He took the wand and stowed it away. "I must say, Mr. Lachance, you are a tricky customer, very tricky indeed..."

"I like to think I'm tricky, but Vincente says he can read my mind like an open book." But alas, Ollivander ignored him. He was rummaging through a few more boxes, frowning, now.

"Perhaps one of these," he was muttering to himself. "Though, I'll admit, rather unorthodox in the making, however..." He pulled one out, opened the lid, and examined it thoroughly before bringing it back to Ma'rik. "Now here we have an elegant bloodwood wand... It is eleven inches in length, not too firm, nor too flexible- optimal for hexes and curses, particularly those that are element-based. I believe it will also perform well in the Charms class at Hogwarts."

"What of the core?" Snape spoke up.

"Ah, yes, the most interesting part of this wand, if I must choose one." Ollivander nodded. "It is a lock from the mane of an asian dragon. Particularly difficult to obtain, indeed it was..." He handed it over. "Give it a whirl, I doubt anything too disastrous could happen." Ma'rik took the wand into his hand and instantly felt his Magicka extent to wrap around it, unlocking its potential as it was channeled into the small object. Ma'rik stared at it in awe, and felt a particular warmth coming from it. Ollivander was giving him a toothy grin.

"It... it feels so... so..." Ma'rik could not find the words to properly describe it.

"That will be eleven galleons, Mr. Lachance."

* * *

"Alright, seriously." Ma'rik frowned as he and Snape passed another gaggle of shoppers who seemed to take no greater delight than staring at him as they passed. "Why are they whispering about me? It's really annoying."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Can it be? The spawn of Potter annoyed by having a fanclub?"

"I have a fanclub?" Ma'rik cried in alarm. He turned his eyes skyward. "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME, SITHIS?" Upon receiving no answer he sighed and tried to ignore the shoppers as best he could. Eventually he began to grow bored (they still had a ways to walk to get his school uniform), and he began to look around the shops. One in particular caught his eye and he grinned, tugging slightly on Snape's sleeve to catch his attention.

"What is it now, Potter?"

"Can we go in there?"

"Where?"

"There!" He pointed to the apothecary. Snape raised an eyebrow. "Oh, c'mon, it's on the way, what could it hurt?"

"I suppose you _do_ need to get Potions supplies while you're there...," Snape said after a moment, looking a tad surprised. Ma'rik pumped his fist into the air and scampered over without waiting to see if Snape was following him. What he found was pure bliss.

While Conjuration was Ma'rik's all-time favorite branch of the arcane arts, Alchemy came in a close third. Because, really, Mysticism always deserved second, there was no way around it. Telekinesis was the best spell ever. Ignoring his in-head listings of fun spells, Ma'rik poked through the apothecary with a small shopping basket in hand, picking up random, interesting-looking materials as he browsed. Snape seemed to be taking equally as long to shop, though with a much larger basket, and he was taking more time to pick the materials out. When they had finished, Ma'rik was also forced to buy a cauldron, despite his protests ("I have a mortar and pestle and a calcinator at home, why do I need this?"), and they were able to cross a few more things off the list.

The next stop was Madame Malkin's. A platinum blond boy was in the fitting room as Ma'rik entered. He looked particularly snooty as he stood watching his own reflection in the mirror, and a woman, presumably Malkin herself, was enchanting the robes he was wearing to sew themselves together.

"Oh, hello, dear," Madame Malkin greeted as she noticed him. "Hogwarts, too, I presume? Yes, yes, step right up there..." She ushered him onto a stool next to the other boy.

"Hello," the boy greeted, his voice a snobbish drawl. "Are you going to be a first-year as well?" Ma'rik nodded.

"Yup. It's going to be interesting," he replied.

"My name's Malfoy. _Draco_ Malfoy."

"Ma'rik Lachance."

"Do you know what house you're going to be in?" Malfoy asked. "_My_ family's been in Slytherin for _centuries_, so I have no doubt that I will, as well. Though, Mother says she would be just as pleased if I made it into Ravenclaw." Ma'rik nodded.

"Mm-hm. Ravenclaw and Slytherin. The best. Always loved them." Pause. "...What _are_ they, exactly, then?" Malfoy's nose wrinkled.

"You don't know? Don't tell me you're a Mudblood!" he exclaimed. He jumped an easy two feet not a moment later when Madame Malkin poked him with a pin. "Oi! Watch it!"

"I'll have no cursing in _my_ shop, Mr. Malfoy," Malkin replied, giving him the evil eye. He snorted.

"I'll assume 'mudblood' is derogatory and say I'm not one," Ma'rik piped up. "No one I knew ever went to (shudder) _Hogwarts_... We live far away, you see."

"Oh. You're from out of country, then." Malfoy shrugged. "There are four houses at Hogwarts that we'll be sorted into. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin..." Malfoy continued to drone on for a while before Madame Malkin told Ma'rik that his fitting was finished and he was free to pay and leave. He did so greatfully.

"I'll see you on the train!" Malfoy called after him. Ma'rik sincerely hoped he would not. Malfoy was very, _very_ talkative.

"By Sithis, that boy was annoying," Ma'rik complained to Snape as they headed towards a shop called Flourish and Blotts. "Why is it the lighter-haired a blond gets, the more annoying they are? He wouldn't stop _talking_, and he had the most _annoying_ voice!" Snape snorted at that and herded him inside the book shop. They were heading back towards the Transfiguration books when they bumped into the most peculiar person, a nervous-looking young man, who jumped into the air and yelped, drawing the nearby glances of shoppers. His eye was twitching horribly.

"A-ah, S-Serevus," the man stuttered. "F-fancy seeing y-you h-here."

"Hello, Quirinius," Snape greeted dryly, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Finally come to get that vampire book?"

"Ah, y-y-yes, i-in fact, I j-just f-found it, h-have a look..." The man showed Snape a small paperback book, the black cover depicting a pair of hands holding an obnoxiously red apple. Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Quirrel, why is this 'new, important vampire book' a young-adult romance novel?" he finally asked. Quirrel's brow raised.

"I-it's a surprisingly g-good read, S-Severus." Snape ignored him and turned to Ma'rik.

"Potter, this is Professor Quirrel. He teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts," he introduced. Ma'rik extended his hand politely.

"Hello, Professor," he greeted. "What branch of magic do you specialize in?"

"...D-Defense Against the D-Dark Arts," Quirrel repeated, looking skeptical. "S-Severus just said that." He brightened as it was Ma'rik's turn to look skeptical. "I-I'll look forward to seeing you in my class... N-Not that you n-need it, eh, P-Potter?"

"Lachance," Ma'rik corrected.

"Y-yes, well... C-carry on, I'll b-be on my w-way back." The professor smile at them as he went to go pay for his books. Severus rolled his eyes skyward and shook his head slightly as he lead Ma'rik towards the books on sale for the school year.

"...Sir?" Marik asked after a long moment of silence in which he perused the books. "What did he mean by that?"

"I would assume he meant he was returning from where he departed," Snape answered dryly. "That is _usually_ what one means when they say that they are 'on their way back'."

"No, not that." Another pause. "When he said that I don't need his class." It was Snape's turn to remain silent for a second.

"You mean you don't know, Potter?" he asked quietly. Ma'rik shook his head. "Very well. I suppose I should tell you." He didn't continue, and Ma'rik didn't press him- whatever it was, it must have been important, he thought, and being the curious Murderer he was, he had learned very early in life that when someone knew something you wanted, getting on their good side was the easiest way to get them to talk, with threatening them with their life following right after.

They had payed and stopped for lunch at some pub called _The Leaky Cauldron_ when Snape finally started talking.

"Ten years ago," he murmured. Ma'rik blinked.

"Sir?"

"Ten years ago is when it happened. It was at the peak of his power, when the wizarding world was terrified, about to hand him a crown on a silver platter." The Potions professor stared deeply into the candle on the table, as though mulling something rather unpleasant over. "He was the most terrible and frightening dark wizard in living memory; in fact, few say the only one to surpass him was the Dark Lord Grindellwald. This new Dark Lord killed without mercy. He almost won... almost...

"The Dark Lord usually sent his followers to kill those who opposed him. However, there was _one_ family... and _only_ one... that I am aware of that he decided to kill, himself- and in their own home, no less. The Potters. He arrived on their doorstep on Halloween- there were only three, a man, a woman, and their child. He killed both the man and the woman- however... _most_ peculiarly... as he tried to kill the child, the curse rebounded... and killed _him_, instead." Ma'rik blinked, looking utterly confused. Snape's eyebrows raised as though he were only mildly interested and turned to gaze at him. "That's why everyone stares at you, Potter. You're famous for it."

"..._Famous_?" Ma'rik blinked. "For... some wacky old codger killing himself with his own spell? It sounds like it just backfired, I didn't do _anything_...!"

"The curse he used is known for being unblockable; unstoppable," Snape explained slowly. "Unless it is dodged, there should be no existing way to escape it's effects. You're an enigma to all of us, Potter. An enigma that ended a very dark time. You're a hero to the wizarding world; _that_ is why you're famous." Ma'rik closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"What was his name?"

"Pardon?"

"His _name_. For being one of the most feared wizards in living memory, he _must_ have a name, musn't he?" Green eyes stared black down challengingly. Severus inclined his head and beckoned for Ma'rik to lean forward as he did as well, whisperin the name to him. Ma'rik's eyes hardened.

"_Voldemort."_

_

* * *

_

Ma'rik was silent for the remainder of the shopping, which it seemed Snape was grateful for. In fact, he was quiet even after Snape dropped him back off at Ft. Farragut. He made his way alone down to Cheydinhall, simply wandering around town, sighing when he heard a few of the folk talking about the latest party at Riverview. He found his way into the church and sat down in the pews, simply staring at the alter in at the front, and the stained-glass windows. Despite not believing in the Nine, he came here often; it was always quiet, a nice place to think, and it kept him on good terms with most of the town. Lucien never protested.

He thought over the name, again and echoed within his mind- Voldemort, Voldemort, _Voldemort_. He remembered back, with great effort, to when he was younger- his earliest memories, being shouted at and hit and beaten by his so-called aunt and uncle. He tried to push farther, closing his eyes. Silence- and then, cold laughter, a flash of bright, green, light, and-!

"Hatchling? You're back already?" Teinaava's voice snapped him out of his musings.

"Oh... hello, Teinaava." Ma'rik scooted over, and the Argonian sat, curling his tail around to keep it pressed comfortably against his leg.

"Where are all your things, Hatchling?" he asked, ruffling Ma'rik's hair fondly. "That you bought, today."

"In my Magicka Pockets," Ma'rik replied tiredly. "There's a lot of it. I'm just glad I got a trunk to carry it all." At the mentioning of his trunk, his eyes brightened considerably. "Did you know, in London, they have trunks enchanted to have their own Magicka pockets? And with Feather enchants on them, too!"

"Really?" Teinaava grinned. "What else did you see there?" Ma'rik took a deep breath and began to go on, and on, and on, recounting the entire day- the respectable Goblins, the apothecary, the boy in the robe shop, and, above all, the wands.

"It was amazing- here, take a look..." He reached into one of his Magicka Pockets and pulled out the long, slender box, delicately taking the wand from its depths. Teinaava blinked.

"Hatchling, it is a scam- it is only a stick!" he exclaimed.

"No, no, it's not!" Marik grinned broadly. "Whenever I touch it, I can feel it connecting to my Magicka, bringing out its full potential... Teinaava, what this stick does is _amazing_! Here... let me..." He pointed the tip of the wand at his empty palm, concentrating hard. The hilt of a dagger began to appear hazily in his hand, slowly growing stronger by the second, until, finally, it was in their realm- half of the blade started afterwards. "You see?"

"Hatchling..." Teinaava watched on, eyes wide, as Ma'rik finished binding the dagger in only a few minutes, whereas that morning it had been taking him hours. "Oh, by Sithis, Hatchling... You've _done it_... You've completed a Bound Dagger!"

"I know!" Ma'rik eyes shined in excitement. "I know, it's amazing, it's- it's...!" He let out a long breath to calm himself. "I can't _wait_ for the school to start."

* * *

Of course, the next two weeks flew by, with Ma'rik successfully learning to bind a helm, and then both the helm and the dagger at the same time. When the day finally arrived on the first of Hearthfire, Ma'rik set out with Lucien very early (in fact, they had left Cheydinhal several days earlier) to London by means of side-along Fast Travel, where they managed to find their way to King's Cross Station, heading inside.

"-_Every _year, _packed_ with Muggles..." They watched as a rather plump ginger woman strode quickly past them. "You'd think they'd have an easier way to board the Express, it's starting to be completely ridiculous!" Five children followed after her, along with, Ma'rik assumed, their father.

"Well, it's better than having to flush yourself down like they have you do at the Ministry!" one of the boys, from a set of identical twins, it seemed, laughed. His mother rolled her eyes, but Ma'rik could see a smile barely twitching at the corner of her mouth.

"Alright, platform nine and three quarters," she said. "Percy, you first." The eldest of the boys nodded and began walking at the platforms between nine and ten. Ma'rik began to ignore them and turned back to Lucien.

"So, then, what's our platform number?" he asked, twisting to read the ticket over the Speaker's shoulder.

"Nine and three quarters," Lucien replied. "I'm trying to see if this was written wrong, though, I only see a platform nine and ten... And there's eleven down there."

"Huh..." Ma'rik squinted.

"Fred, dear, you next," the woman was saying, now.

"He's not Fred, I am!" one of the twins said.

"Honestly, woman, you call yourself_ our_ mother...," the other grumbled.

"_Oh,_ Merlin, I'm sorry, _George_..."

"I'm only joking! I _am_ Fred!"

"Will you two stop joking around and get onto platform nine and three quarters, please?" the father asked, grinning.

"I don't know, this _can't_ be right," Lucien sighed, running a hand through his hair in distress.

"Maybe if we go ask someone...," Ma'rik replied.

"Why?" Lucien exclaimed. "There's no such _thing_ as platform nine and three quarters!" Activity near them ceased and people stared, including the red-haired family. Lucien face-palmed and Ma'rik grinned sheepishly. Eventually, people went back to what they were doing.

"...Excuse me..." The red-haired woman approached them. "Are you, by any chance, here for the Hogwarts Express?" Ma'rik shuddered.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied after he got over the ickyness of the name 'Hogwarts'.

"Don't worry, it's my son Ron's first time, too." She smiled kindly at him, and led him by the shoulder to where her family was waiting; Lucien followed. "All you have to do is walk into the wall between platforms nine and ten, just there..." She pointed to where her husband and daughter were now entering. "Why don't you go ahead, before Ron? Best go at a bit of a run, if you're nervous." He took a moment to look at her son, Ron, who smiled shyly. He smiled back and winked, giving him a thumbs-up.

"C'mon, Lucien, let's go before you cause another scene..."

"_I'm_ causing a scene?" They said their thank-yous and continued to bicker as they headed to the wall, hesitating for only a second as they walked right through the wall, and out onto a large platform, the sign above them reading, in big bold letters:

**PLATFORM 9 ¾ **

**HOGWARTS EXPRESS – 11:00**

Ma'rik grinned.

"Nice."

He and Lucien walked towards the end of the platform, checking the large, scarlet engine out before the former was ushered on by the latter. He came back out to say his goodbye after he'd secured a carriage, placing his trunk on the rack as a sign.

"Now..." Lucien stared at him for a moment before smiling slightly. "It seems like so long ago when I took you from here to Cheydinhall by Fast Travel. And now here I am bringing you right back the same way." He held out his hand. "Make sure you write. We won't all be able to see you as often as we would like, now. Especially not me."

"Lucien..." Ma'rik reached out to shake his hand, but an odd feeling came over him, and instead rushed forward for a hug. "I'll write- I promise. Every week." Lucien chuckled and patted him on the head.

"Go on now, Apprentice Warrior." He turned Ma'rik around and nudged him towards the train. Ma'rik rolled his eyes.

"You know, Lachance, it sounds so much more bad-ass when you say it in Ta'agra."

* * *

The train ride was mostly boring, with a few visits by Malfoy, a girl with obnoxiously curly hair helping a boy search for a lost toad, and the twins and Ron from earlier dropping in to say hello, though none of them seemed to want to stick around, despite Ma'rik being in his compartment alone. Ma'rik really didn't mind; he spent his time reading a book he found for wizards from some place called 'America' about the culture of England's wizarding society.

When they got to the school, it was night, and he was directed to exit the train without his belongings, which, although he found a little frightening to be without, he still did (of course, his Blade of Woe was stashed securely in his Magicka Pockets). A large man called for the new students to follow him, leading them to the boats, where Ma'rik crammed in with Ron and the girl and boy with the toad problem. As soon as all of the new students had sat, the man tapped his boat with his pink umbrella, and all of the boats began gliding across the glassy, dark water.

"Keep yer eyes open just 'round the bend, here!" the large man called back to them. "Ye'll get yer first view of the castle!" Students gasped, Ma'rik included, as the castle came in sight. It was large, majestic, and it shone brilliantly in the night. Oh, yes, he would enjoy it here.

The boats pulled up to a dock at some sort of opening to a cave, where the decidedly round boy in the boat with Harry found his toad hiding off to the side. The large man led them into the entrance hall.

"Alrigh' you lot!" he said to them as they stopped. "Now, jes' wait here 'til Professor McGonagall gets here, and she'll take yeh all up to be sorted." He smiled around at all of them one last time before leaving. Immediately, chatter broke out.

"Fred and George told me you have to battle a troll-"

"-Dozens of different spells, I think they'd be most impressed by Reparo, don't you?"

"AH! TREVOR! No, he's getting away...!"

"I hear there are lots of _ghosts_, and..." Ma'rik ignored it all. Eventually, a stern-looking woman wearing green strode up to them, and the talking ceased. She peered at them from behind her glasses.

"Well, you all seem a lot _shorter_ than last year's first years," she said after a moment. Ma'rik exchanged glances with the black boy who had been chattering on about how _he _would fight a troll next to him. "In a few moments, you will be sorted into one of four houses... Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff..." She paused and winced slightly as she named the final. "...And Slytherin. While you're here, your house will be like your family. Hard work will earn you house points- any _rule breaking_, and you will _lose points_. Now..." She motioned to the large double doors, which opened. "Please, follow me." She lead them into a huge banquet hall, with four long tables in the middle, and a raised staff table at the head. "Now, I shall read your name off this list... When I come to your name, you will sit on this stool, and put the Sorting Hat upon your head." She motioned to a torn old hat on the stool. Ma'rik raised an eyebrow. The rest of the new students looked upon it as skeptically as he did, save a few, and were surprised to see a rip open at the brim. The hat spontaneously burst into song.

"_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty, _

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_if you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folks use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_

The hall clapped loudly as the Sorting Hat finished and took himself a bow or two. Ma'rik couldn't help but laugh.

He watched on as McGonagall called the other first-years up, one by one, and sat the hat upon their head before it cried out one of the four Houses, each met by great applause by said House. It went on for a while, and Ma'rik wasn't really nervous.

Until she skipped his name.

He watched on, astounded, as the last 'L' left and she moved into the next letters. He should have been there! He was Ma'rik _Lachance_! Was there some sort of mistake?

He was suffering from a minor panic attack by the time she got to Malfoy, who strode up cockily and sat down; the sorting hat barely touched his head before it screamed out "SLYTHERIN!" The rest moved by in a blur. Ma'rik glanced back at the double doors, wondering if he should run.

"Potter, Harry!" The hall quieted. Ma'rik winced. Slowly, he turned back around to face McGonagall, blinking unbelieveably. "Potter, Harry!" she called again. Ma'rik glared at Dumbledore, who was sitting in the middle of the staff table, and the old man simply smiled right back. Ma'rik sighed and stepped up, allowing the hat to be placed over his head, slipping over his ears and covering his eyes.

"_Ahh... another Potter. It's been quite some time since I've seen one under my brim,"_ the hat whispered in his mind.

"_I'm not a Potter," _Ma'rik furiously thought back. "_I'm a Lachance._"

"_Very well, very well, Mr. Lachance,_" the hat conceded quickly. "_Let's make this as painless as possible. Let's see... You are very brave... Loyal, too, no doubt from growing up in the Brotherhood..._" Ma'rik's eyes widened. "_Yes, Mr. Lachance, I know about the Brotherhood. Ahh, and, a great hunger for knowledge... But, also, a thirst to __**prove**__ yourself... You would do well in any of the four Houses, there's no doubt about that..._"

"_But where do I belong...?_" Ma'rik whispered.

"_Indeed... where do you...?_" There was a silence in the hall, and they watched on eagerly, every house wishing for the famous Harry Potter to become one of their own, oblivious to the conversation that was taking place in the Murderer's head. "_I see... Very well, then, Mr. Lachance, better be...!_"

**BOOM! CLIFFHANGER!**

**I know, I'm evil.**

**So, the hardest part of this chapter for me was deciding what house Ma'rik was gonna be in. And you know what? I still haven't. I think the story could be interesting in any house besides Hufflepuff. So here's the plan! On my author page, there will be a poll- YOU ALL get to decide Ma'rik's house! Depending on where you put him, the story line could change immensely- Hermione and Ron getting to be friends with this new, weird Potter? Ma'rik making friends with the most loony students in the school? Or should he befriend the miniature Death Eaters like Malfoy and Zabini? Poll will be open until the 20****th****! :D If you want chapter three, VOTE!**

**Also, yes. :3 Fast Travel answers everything. Including how Lucien got Harry from London to Cheydinhall so quickly. More explanation on that, later.**


	3. In Which Ma'rik Creeps Out Terry

**WHOO! The votes are in! Now that I think on it, I totally should've made it a blind poll, but I didn't, so you all probably know what house he's gonna be in already, but for the sake of suspense, pretend you don't. Also, the lack of reviews make the sad author sad. I'm making everything up as I go, and I know I'm probably not always explaining things enough, so questions, suggestions, criticism, etc, is all welcome. ****:D Thanks guys.**

Ma'rik swallowed hard. Things weren't exactly working out so wonderfully as he'd anticipated them. Between everyone staring and whispering at him, mentioning his scar- why they were so intrigued or how even the people too far away to see it somehow instantaneously knew of it, he had no idea, it's not like it was from anything important (in fact, he had been assured by Lucien multiple times that he had most likely gotten it fighting pigeons or rats or something in London when he was living on the streets)- and Dumbledore refusing to call him by his adopted name, and even the annoying Sorting Hat waltzing its way through his memories _without_ his permission, he was, in all honesty, getting really, _really_ pissed. And he used to think _cave goblins_ were annoying. Compared to all the stress he was currently under, they were the tiny flavored sprinkles covering the cherry and whipped cream and hot fudge on the ice cream that was placed on top of a rather large cake.

Man, he _really_ wished he had some cake right now.

"_Are you __**sure**__...? I do find __**that**__ house might be more suitable for you, Mr. Lachance...,_" the Sorting Hat whispered to him.

"_I'm sure_," Ma'rik replied quietly from within his mind.

"_Very well... if you __**truly **__wish it to be... then I better put you in _RAVENCLAW!" The name of the house was shouted for the entire hall to hear. There was a momentary silence. Then, amidst the groans of the Gryffindors and the jeers of the Slytherins, the Ravenclaw table burst into loud, joyous screaming, clapping, caroling, dancing, yodeling, and other various forms of general merry-making. Ma'rik let out a deep breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and stood, removing the hat and placing it carefully on the stool, the smirk apparent on his face. He headed over to the blue-and-bronze table, taking a seat with several of the other first-years. The noise from Ravenclaw was quieted by a smiling Dumbledore eventually, and McGonagall continued to call the remaining first years up to be sorted.

"Hey, Harry," one of the boys who had also been sorted into Ravenclaw said, smiling. He was brown-haired, and his blue eyes sparked with intelligence. "I'm Boot, Terry Boot! Who'd've thought I'd end up in the same house as the famous Harry Potter, eh? Everyone was sure you'd go to Gryffindor, I mean, since you defeated You-Know-Who and all-!" It seemed he was about to start rambling, so Ma'rik decided to spare himself and interject there.

"Okay, two things," he said, sighing heavily. "One- _my name isn't Harry_." Terry blinked in confusion.

"What do you mean?" he replied. "You went up when they called your name, and the name they called was Harry Potter. Wouldn't they realize if you weren't him?"

"'Harry Potter' is just a _name_," Ma'rik grumbled. "It was mine _once_ but now it's not, okay? I changed my name a long time ago."

"Then what's your name, now?"

"It's Ma'rik Lachance, alright? Now, may I continue?" Terry nodded, frowning slightly. Ma'rik tapped a finger on the table. "So, two- I _wasn't_ the one who actually caused Voldemort's downfall. His own spell _backfired_." Terry gasped when Ma'rik said Voldemort's name, and promptly grabbed a salt shaker, shook some salt into his hand, and tossed it over his left shoulder. Ma'rik stared on, utterly confused. "What the hell?" Terry turned a concerned gaze back at him.

"Don't say You-Know-Who's name!" he whispered urgently. "Every time you say his name, a baby dies, a person becomes a vampire and You-Know-Who _gets stronger_!"

"I don't think curses work like that," Ma'rik said after a moment.

"Trust me! Just don't say his name!"

"Alright..." Terry seemed to relax as soon as Ma'rik agreed to stop saying his name and turned across the table to start talking with another of the Ravenclaws, an upperclassman, and Ma'rik turned to watch the rest of the sorting boredly. At the end, once the final applause had finished, Dumbledore stood and gazed around the room, smiling.

"Before we feast, I would like to say a few words." The first-years leaned forward anxiously to hear what one of their biggest heroes had to say. He paused for a second, gathering his thoughts, and the students held their breath. "Nitwit! Oddment! Blubber! Tweak!" Smiling broadly at the now-confused faces, Dumbledore reseated himself, and food appeared on the plates.

"Yeah, he's crazy," Ma'rik sighed as he turned his gaze back to the table to observe the food. Terry and the other new Ravenclaws began to load their plates, chowing down immediately. Ma'rik watched them for a moment before staring long and hard at the food.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Terry asked, noticing Ma'rik hesitance, giving a small chuckle. "See nothing you fancy?"

"No, that's not it," Ma'rik replied. He glanced it all over suspiciously before grabbing an apple, sniffing at it. He then proceeded to buff it a bit on his robes before running his thumb over the surface.

"Seriously," one of the other new Ravenclaws asked, who had also stopped to watch, "What's up?"

"Just testing it." Ma'rik grabbed the nearest sharp knife and carefully cut a piece off, gently touching the meat to check the juice. "You can never be too careful." Satisfied that the apple wasn't poisoned, he took a bite, and then grabbed several more.

"You know," Terry said after a moment of thinking that over, "you have a point." The others looked at him like he was crazy. "What? Haven't you heard the stories about the rebellious house-elves that poison people's food?"

"House-elves?" one of the new muggleborns asked.

"Yeah!" Terry nodded. "They're this race of elves that generally belong to old pureblood families or the more wealthy households. Of course, Hogwarts has loads, how else would they take care of a big ol' castle like this?"

"Magic?" the muggleborn replied wryly.

"Well, they could," the other new Ravenclaw from earlier agreed. "But that takes a lot of time and the teachers need to be able to not only teach the students and grade papers and do patrol duty, but they have to spend time taking care of the students, too. Between all that, they just don't have the time. And house elves are willing to do it all for free."

The muggleborn frowned. "But... that's slavery, then, isn't it?"

"Well, I guess you could look at it like that," Terry conceded. "But I guess that depends on how the elf feels about it, wouldn't it? By the way, I'm Terry. What's your name?"

"Lisa Turpin," she replied. "It's nice to meet you."

"And I'm Michael," the other Ravenclaw jumped in. They stared at Ma'rik, who sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Ma'rik Lachance." There was a brief silence before Michael spoke up.

"Not Harry Potter?" he asked, lazily tilting his head.

"No," Ma'rik replied, frowning deeply. "Not Harry Potter. I just gave Boot this lecture, so please don't make me give it again."

"He did," Terry confirmed when Michael and Lisa looked at him. They didn't question him further.

As the feast progressed, Ma'rik calmed down slightly, going so far as to try the other food and find, to his delight, none of it was poisoned. He was vaguely aware of Terry babbling on about some random, odd things having to do with some sort of Ministry of Magic and Halflings. Honestly, Ma'rik wasn't sure if that was even it. He didn't have the patience to pay attention, especially not with all of the delicious food before him. The feast was over all too soon, however, and Ma'rik sighed angrily as the food all disappeared. He, as well as the other students, looked to the head table as Dumbledore tapped on his glass with a fork. The old man beamed out, staring at the students as they stared back with bated breath.

"Welcome," Dumbledore said at last, "to another wonderful year at Hogwarts. Before you are all sent to bed, I have a few announcements I wish to make. First off, Mr. Filch has asked me to remind you that Fanged Frisbees are on the list of banned items, as are Dungbombs. For the full list of banned items, please visit Mr. Filch's office." There was a stir of murmurs. Ma'rik assumed that meant no one wanted to go anywhere near this 'Filch'. He'd have to look into the man, later. "Second, I am pleased to say that our very own Professor Quirrel will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts." He motioned to the jumpy turban-headed man, who smiled nervously at the students and stood as they applauded, looking ready to faint on the spot. Once he sat down, Dumbledore continued. "Also, First years should note that the forest on the school grounds is forbidden to all pupils, and that no magic should be used in the corridors between classes. Some of our older students would do well to remember that, as well." Ma'rik blinked on solemnly as he watched Dumbledore give some students at the Gryffindor table his twinkly-stare. Must have been a couple of pranksters. "And finally, this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to anyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

"I KNEW IT!" Terry shouted at the top of his voice. Everyone turned and stared at him. Ma'rik raised his eyebrows in amusement.

"Knew what, Mr. Boot?" Dumbledore asked pleasantly, eyes twinkling once more. Terry blushed slightly and slid down in his seat.

"You're hiding to Philosopher's Stone here...," he said quietly. Dumbledore blinked and then chuckled.

"No, dear boy, I'm afraid we aren't. Wonderful guess, though." The other students laughed at Terry's fail. "Now, that's that. Tomorrow, your heads of house will hand out your schedules. Prefects, please lead your first years to the common rooms. To bed, now, off you trot!"

The Ravenclaw common room was located in Ravenclaw Tower, which was one of the taller towers on the west side of the school. Ma'rik had been amazed when the brass knocker had come to life and given a question to the Prefect, who proceeded to explain that, unlike other houses, the Ravenclaw common room required the answer to a riddle to proceed inwards.

"But what happens if you get it wrong?" Lisa asked.

"Then you have to wait for someone who knows to come answer it," the Prefect replied. "That way you learn, you see?" He led the First-years inside and explained to them several rules and the curfews before sending them to their dormitories. Ma'rik, Michael, and Terry went up the stairs with four other boys. It ended up they all were sharing the first-year dorm, together, and the room was surprisingly spacious. Ma'rik had to admit, though, he somewhat envied the girls- there were only three in their year, and if all the dorms were the same size, they would have a LOT of room. Maybe even larger beds.

He shrugged to himself as he found the four-poster bed with his trunk at the foot. It was a very nice, bed, he would give it that. Better than the cots back in the sanctuary, at least. The curtains and sheets were deep blues in color, and the frames were bronze, in accordance to the house colors. After a while of staying up and chatting to his new roommates, Ma'rik claimed sleepiness, and changed into the soft, cotton pants he'd gotten raiding with Teinaava that he now used as pajamas. He then pulled the curtain closed around his bed and settled down, thinking as he listened to the quiet conversations and playful banter of his new Sanctuary.

After an hour or two, the other boys went to bed, as well, and as soon as they were asleep, Ma'rik rose, stepping quietly over to the window. He had to admit, he was curious about that corridor on the third floor. And about the forest, too. What made it forbidden? What lived in the depths of the lake surrounding the castle? And what sort of classes would he get to take? He mulled over these questions all night, tired but unable to sleep.

Morning came soon enough, and Ma'rik was graced with the beauty of the sunrise over the forest, casting a golden color onto the lake. He was so caught up in it that he almost didn't realize Terry was waking up.

"Morning, Ma'rik," Terry yawned, rubbing his eyes. "You're up early... Excited...?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," Ma'rik replied. "You all slept very soundly last night. I'm glad I didn't disturb you." He inwardly laughed at the now-disturbed look that crossed Terry's face.

"You watched us sleep?" the other boy asked nervously.

"Nah," Ma'rik replied. "I was too busy looking out the window. Hey, if you hurry and get ready, we can go down to breakfast together." Terry yawned again and nodded, standing up sluggishly and shuffling his way to the bathroom. Ma'rik grabbed his wand, left the room, and slid down the banister railing to the common room below. No one else was up yet, save for the Prefects, who were all hanging out together and laughing near the fireplace. Ma'rik ignored them for the most part and proceeded to sit in an armchair off to the side. Terry shuffled his way down the stairs twenty minutes later, and he and Ma'rik left for the Great Hall.

They were early, as were a few other students, and so Terry took the opportunity to take a nap while Ma'rik studied the enchanted ceiling. He was just wondering what sort of skill in Illusion one would need to make the ceiling do that when food appeared on the table, and Terry awoke with a start. The two silently began to fill their plates and eat.

As breakfast progressed, Professor Flitwik, a short, elderly wizard scurried over, positively beaming at them.

"Mr. Boot, here's your schedule," the minute man said, "and here's yours, Mr. Potter. Charms right after lunch today, you two! I can't wait to see you both in my class!"

"Thanks, Unc- Professor," Terry said, still looking half-dead.

"So this is where it all starts," Ma'rik mused as Flitwik scurried away. "Morning potions with Hufflepuff. This is gonna be fun." He paused. "Wait, were you just about to call Professor Flitwik 'Uncle'?"

"Er... Yeah." Terry stretched a little. "Yeah, he's my grandmother's cousin or something. He's always been close in my family, though, so Uncle works perfectly for him. Just, I'm not supposed to call him that at school."

"Bet he's proud you're in his house," Ma'rik replied. Terry was about to say something when a voice cut him off.

"Harry, my boy, may I have a word?" Ma'rik cringed slightly and turned around to find Dumbledore behind him.

"Sure, Professor," he replied. He glanced back to Terry. "Save me a seat?" Terry nodded and went back to sleeping on his breakfast. Ma'rik followed Dumbledore out into the great hall.

"How do you like your House, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, smiling.

"Ma'rik," Ma'rik corrected. "And, it's nice." Dumbledore frowned.

"I see you still insist on being called by your nickname. Well, one day, my boy, one day you'll go back to your real name." He smiled again. "To be honest, Harry, I somewhat expected you to be sorted into Gryffindor. But Ravenclaw! I'm sure you'll have no problems with your classes."

"Ma'rik," Ma'rik corrected once more. "I'm sure classes will be wonderful, I've got Potions this morning, and I can't wait to start brewing." Dumbledore smiled.

"Well, I'm certainly glad to hear that. Now, what I needed to talk to you about... I've been discussing the matters of your Brotherhood training with Lucien, and it seems something odd's started happening around Cyrodiil," he said. Ma'rik's eyebrows rose. "Oh, nothing bad happened to anyone, I assure you, however, it seems important enough for them to send your tutor several weeks early. Instead of Antoinetta coming in October, she will be arriving by the end of the week." It was Ma'rik's turn to frown.

"Oh," he said. "Lucien didn't say anything about anything weird happening before I left... I wonder what could have happened already..."

"What is she going to be teaching you?" Dumbledore asked curiously, breaking him off his train of thought.

"Oh, just Sneak skill things," Ma'rik replied. "So far I've been self-taught, and that doesn't go over to well in houses and some caves, so she's gonna try and teach me how to be more effective about it."

"Ah." Dumbledore smiled. "Well, don't use it to get yourself in trouble after curfew." Ma'rik chuckled.

"I make no promises." Dumbledore chuckled, as well, and patted Ma'rik on the head.

"Well, either way, off to class with you now. It was nice talking to you, Harry."

"My name is Ma'rik!" Ma'rik called after the old headmaster as he left. He sighed. "Geez. You'd think he'd take a hint. And an anvil-sized one at that!" He glanced around, and slowly, it dawned on him. "Aw, shit."

It was the first day, and he was already late for his first class.

**Well, there's chapter three. Sorry it took so long for such a short chapter, but I've been experiencing a rather horrible case of writer's block that I'm hoping is gone now. Add into the mix exams and reworking the entire plot of this stupid thing... Well, anywho, once again, I apologize for how short this is, but it's getting late and I need to get up early for school tomorrow. :D So R&R and I'll try hard to get a nice, long chapter four out soon!**

**o.o Also, I would like to cite my sources as the harry potter wikia, and the uesp wiki. I love them so much. Until next time~!**


	4. In Which Ma'rik Gets Pissed

**A lot of people seem to be concerned about Ma'rik being a little on the soft side. :D I'd just like to say "don't worry". He's not going to stay like that forever. The reason why he isn't as aggressive as you'd imagine him to be is that he's still a child- eleven is pretty young, and his only experience with killing anything is from raiding caves with Teinaava. He also grew up with the Tenets, so he's used to respecting generally anyone older than he is. As for Jesagon's concern of Ma'rik and how he acts around his peers- well, he just acts as he would with the Brotherhood, just slightly more reserved. Although there weren't children in Oblivion, children do exist in the world of Elder Scrolls, and he has probably socialized with peers in Cheydenhall, which is why he isn't so uncomfortable. :D Now that those matters are taken care of, ON WITH THE SHOW!**

Ma'rik sprinted down the corridors, cursing Dumbledore under his breath the whole while. So much time could have been saved during that conversation if the old coot had called him by his proper name! He might have had a chance of being on time! Of course, that would be ignoring the fact that he had barely any idea of where the Potions classroom was besides the general area of 'in the dungeons'... The boy gave a quiet, almost Khajiit-like growl as he scampered down the stairs, scowling heavily. He began to search for the classroom, ears straining for any hint of a lecture.

Eventually, he came to an abrupt stop outside of a room; his bag, which had been lifted behind him by the air resistance during his dash, swung forward and collided painfully with his side (pewter cauldrons hurt a _lot_). Slowly, he opened the door; all activity in the room ceased and gazes turned to him. He simply stood there sheepishly, his eyes scanning the sea of yellow and blue.

"Ah... Mr. Potter..." Snape sneered at him from the front of the classroom, where he had been magicking directions for the students to follow on the blackboard. "Our new _celebrity_. How kind of you to finally join us."

"I blame Dumbledore," Ma'rik replied immediately.

"How easy it is to blame our faults on others," Snape replied. "I would give you a detention if Dumbledore hadn't strictly forbidden it for the first week of school. Ten points from Ravenclaw." Lisa glared at him from the front, where she was busy working with some Hufflepuff.

"Whatever." Ma'rik shrugged. "By the way, it's Lachance, not Potter."

"Until you have your name legally changed, Potter, you're still Potter." There was a silence in which Ma'rik's eyes widened slightly and he stared.

"I can do that?" he asked after a second.

"Yes. Once you are seventeen. Now sit down and start working on the potion before I take away another twenty points. Go on." Snape shooed him, and Ma'rik frowned again before heading into the back, where Terry was busy copying the directions onto a piece of parchment.

"Hey, Ma'rik," Terry greeted casually. "Are you any good at Potions, by any chance?"

"Well, M'raaj-dar taught me Alchemy back home," Ma'rik replied, frowning. "It can't be any different."

"Good." Terry sighed in relief. "I was afraid we were going to fail. I'm horrible with Potions. Mum tried to teach me how to brew this one, once, and I somehow managed to make it implode. I was afraid the rift it caused would let some weird, alternate-dimension You-Know-Who right into our kitchen."

"I don't think you can summon with a potion," Ma'rik said, giving Terry a weird look. "Anyways, what are we even brewing?"

"Wiggenweld Potion," Terry replied. "Here, these are what we need from the cupboard, except don't worry about the lionfish spines or the chizpurfle fangs, we should have more than enough between us already."

"What in Oblivion's name a chizpurfle?" Ma'rik asked, staring at the list incredulously.

"It's this little tick-sort of thing that eats magic." Terry was now setting up the potion and getting the ingredients they already had ready. "Hurry, please, we need to have all of these steps done by the end of class. I really, REALLY need to not fail this class in my first year." Ma'rik grumbled something and went to the potions cupboard, checking the list and beginning to pick out what they needed. Several of the items on the list- like wolfsbane, mint, and asphodel- he already had stored away in his Magicka pockets. It significantly reduced the number of things he needed to carry back, and once he sat down, he proceeded to get out his scales, an old but well-cared-for practice dagger, and his apprentice mortar and pestle.

No one seemed to watch as he pulled the ingredients out of seemingly nowhere. That was good. They all must know how to use Magicka pockets, as well. The two set to work hunching over their instructions and carefully timing the moments they added ingredients and changed the heat.

"Oh, damn," Ma'rik muttered as he looked at the list. "Forgot to grab the salamander blood. I'll go grab it, add the flobberworm mucus while I'm gone, will you?" Terry hummed an affirmative, and Ma'rik stood, making his way silently to the other side of the classroom. He was busy measuring out the salamander blood from the flask when he heard a small explosion and a few screams. He whirled around to find a small rift where his and Terry's potion used to be. Terry's eyes were huge.

"Boot!" Snape snarled as he swooped over. "What the hell did you do?"

"I-I... I don't know!" Terry whined, his eyes glued to the rift. "Oh, Merlin, I think I see a You-Know-Who in there!"

"_A_ You-Know-Who?" Snape rolled his eyes. "Dunderhead. How could there be multiple?" Terry didn't reply and proceeded to crawl under the desk and hide. Ma'rik and the rest of the class watched on as the rift slowly closed, leaving a mostly destroyed table in its wake. Snape glowered. "Fifty points from Ravenclaw, Mr. Boot." Terry groaned.

The Ravenclaws were a little short with Terry and Ma'rik after that little fiasco. The 'cold-shoulder' sanction was working just a little too well on the former, who spent the time between classes moaning and griping about how it wasn't his fault and that the dropper must have been faulty, because he hadn't _meant_ to put four drops of flobberworm mucus more than it called for into the potion! There were a few glares directed at them during lunch, but Ma'rik payed it no mind at all. He didn't exactly see himself as having a hand in Terry's idiocy. Honestly, how the boy had managed to add _six drops_ of flobberworm mucus without realizing he'd gone over the required _two_...

Lunch was over sooner than Ma'rik wished it was, and he found himself wandering the corridors with Terry and Anthony Goldstein as they headed to Charms.

"I wonder what we'll start off learning," Anthony wondered idly. "I hope it's something neat. I want to learn to make a Patronus like my dad."

"Patroni are pretty difficult pieces of work," Terry said. "I can't even get past making a bit of a vapor. Unc- _Professor_ Flitwick said there are even a lot of adult wizards who can't cast it.:

"So probably not, then?" Anthony frowned. "Well, then what _are _we learning?"

"I'd guess something simple. Something like a flame-freezing charm or a fire-starting charm." Terry shrugged. "He changes it up every year, so I can't be too sure."

"Why bother doing that?" Ma'rik piped up. "I mean, sure, it's got to get boring, but then you have to keep track of which year's learned what and make plans accordingly."

"I think he enjoys that part," Terry replied. "He used to go Dueling a lot, but he doesn't do it so much, any more."

"Dueling, huh?" Ma'rik thought on that. "I never thought having a magic fight could be considered a sport."

"Oh it is, and it's bloody brilliant." Terry gave a Cheshire grin, and Anthony rolled his eyes.

"Not anywhere near as amazing as Quidditch," he objected.

"What's Quidditch?" Ma'rik asked. Anthony stared at him with wide eyes. Ma'rik raised an eyebrow.

"It's a broom sport," Terry replied. "They're going to be having try-outs next week for the house team. We should go down and watch so you get a good idea." Their conversation ended there as they found themselves outside the classroom, and they wandered in, taking seats near the front of the class. Some Gryffindors were up in the back of the room, already, chattering to each other. Ma'rik recognized Ron Weasley from Platform 9 ¾, and the black boy who had stood next to him before the Sorting, who he was fairly sure was named Dean. However, the obnoxious girl form the train, Hermione he believed her name was, was sitting in the front, as well- and very much alone.

Soon the classroom began to fill up, and the class started. Professor Flitwick began with role, smiling and nodding at each individual student, as though to prove he was committing their names and faces to memory. Ma'rik immediately found himself at ease with the class, finding the atmosphere comfortable and the company almost enjoyable.

"Welcome," Flitwick said once he had finished role, "to your first Charms class at Hogwarts _ever_. You will be learning all sorts of spells in this class to do all sorts of different things. Now, before we begin, I have just one question for you all: what is the difference between Charms and Transfiguration?" The class murmured and looked around at each other as if daring one another to answer. Terry simply sat back and watched; no doubt he already knew. Suddenly, Hermione's hand shot up; Ma'rik's did as well. Flitwick looked back and forth between them and then, shrugging, turned his gaze to Ma'rik. "Mr. Potter, why don't you try and tell us?"

"Lachance," Ma'rik automatically corrected. "Er... it has something to do with what branches of magic they deal with, right?" Flitwick nodded encouragingly. "Right... so... Charms would be, what, Mysticism and Illusion, and Transfiguration would be, like... Alteration?" Flitwick stared at him, his smile fading. Ma'rik bit his lip. "...No? Conjuration?"

"Mr. Potter-"

"Lachance".

"-I can tell you right now, whatever those are, they have nothing to do with Charms or Transfiguration. Though, there are charms that can conjure things, but..." Flitwick turned his gaze to Hermione. "Miss Granger, can you give us the correct answer?"

"Charms are used to bring about certain effects to things without changing their forms," Hermione answered. She looked horribly smug. "Transfiguration, on the other hand, is strictly about changing something into something else."

"Excellent! Ten points to Gryffindor!" Flitwick scquaked. Ma'rik frowned. How did the man end up teaching for, what Ma'rik could gather, such a prestigious school and not know the fundamental branches of magic? He fumed throughout the entire lecture Flitwick proceeded to give, ignoring virtually every word the small man said, only vaguely tuning back in when everyone around him was getting out their wands. Ma'rik pulled his own wand out, smiling slightly at it. At least they were going to use magic.

Or, at least, so he thought. Flitwick had simply shown them a wand movement- something he called "swish and flick". Ma'rik's mood fell further south. By the end of class, all of the rest of the students were chattering, trying to figure out what spell they were preparing to learn. Terry and Anthony waited patiently as Ma'rik grumpily put his things away and joined them on the walk out to the Great Lake for their free period.

"So Terry," Anthony said after a while of silently watching the giant squid, "what spell is your uncle teaching us?"

"The levitation charm," Terry replied. "He's already taught me that one. You all want to try it?"

"Sure!" Anthony grinned. "Get us points before that Granger girl can score them all for Gryffindor. Ma'rik?"

"No," Ma'rik grunted. He scowled at the water. "I don't care about a levitation charm. If I need to get up somewhere high, I can just climb."

"What's up with you?" Anthony laughed. "You were so nice and enthusiastic when we talked in the dorm." Ma'rik shot him a glare that wiped the grin off his face.

"I'm starting to question this school. It is supposed to be prestigious, is it not?" Anthony nodded. "Well, what _I_ want to know is why none of the faculty seems to know _anything_ about magic!" Terry blinked.

"...What do you mean? Uncle Flitwick is the greatest duelist since Dumbledore!" he said. "And I hear McGonagall really knows her stuff, from the way Uncle talks about her..."

"They all just get the blankest looks when I start to talk about the magic branches!" Ma'rik sighed in frustration. "By Sithis, it's like they never _learned_ the arcane arts!" Anthony snorted.

"What, you mean those things you tried to answer with in class? The... 'mysticism' and 'altercation'?" he asked.

"_Alteration_!" Ma'rik corrected fiercely. "For the love of the Night Mother, it's _Alteration_! Sithis!"

"Whatever. Don't get your wand in a knot," Anthony answered, rolling his eyes. Ma'rik growled at him, his hands balling into fists.

"H-hey!" Terry raised his hands placatingly. "M-Ma'rik! C'mon, now, guys, don't _fight_ you'll get _detention_! And on the first day of classes, too!" Ma'rik muttered something rather disperaging about Anthony's mother in Ta'agra under his breath and stood, heading for the castle. "Ma'rik, where are you going?"

"To the dorm," Ma'rik sneered in reply. He made his way up to the brass knocker and answered the question ("I am adored by cats and forum-goers alike. What am I?" "A fishie stick."), ignoring those he passed as he made his way to his four-poster, where he flopped down, pulled the curtains around himself, and dug out his Conjuration tome. He felt so angry- he'd been tricked into coming to this damn school by that _damned_ Dumbledore; _no one_ understood magic, except for maybe Snape, and _he_ only did alchemy! Ma'rik scowled furiously down at the page he'd randomly opened to- the summoning of the Scamp. It was quite possibly the most difficult apprentice Conjuration spell out there.

_This would be child's play for the Listener._

The thought swirled around in Ma'rik's mind endlessly, like a steady stream of insults. He took a deep breath, and, closing his eyes, began the process that M'raaj-Dar had taught him. Slowly, he began to pump his Magicka across the void, diving into the planes of Oblivion to shackle his servant.

The next thing he knew, Ma'rik was being shaken gently awake by Terry.

"Hey," the boy said, looking hesitant. "Are you... going to come down to dinner?" Ma'rik yawned, made sure to carefully hide his tome under his pillow and nodded groggily.

"Yeah. I'm starving." Terry gave him a small smile and turned, heading back out of the dorm and down the stairs. Ma'rik stretched and looked around the room. With a sinking feeling, he noticed that nothing had happened since he began trying to summon- there was no scamp anywhere. After a moment of staring at where he was sure the scamp would have been, he slowly exited the room, closing the door behind him.

The next few days progressed in much the same way- introductions to classes Ma'rik realized he would have no interest in, learning odd wand movements, and saying silly-sounding incantations. Potions- or, as he had taken to calling it, Alchemy 101- was the only class he even bothered to pay attention in, and he did the work with utmost care, making sure to keep an eye on Terry as they worked together. Of course, something still managed to go wrong every now and then, but nothing as momentous as the black hole potion Terry had managed to create in the first class.

The days were horribly boring to Ma'rik, who was starting to find himself wishing he had remained in Cyrodiil and began taking Contracts like a Brother of his age should have been. It was with great excitement, then, that Antoinetta arrived- it made Ma'rik feel much more at peace with having to remain at the school, because at least it gave him stealth training several nights a week to look forward to. In fact, the first night had been very exciting- Antoinetta had taken him into the Forbidden Forest, and they had crept around. She had told him a few tips for moving in such an environment, and she had proceeded to sneak up behind what seemed to be a centaur and gave ti a good scare. She and Ma'rik had laughed about that for a while. All in all, things were starting to look up- and that was a start.

**Bleh, another short chapter. D: Sorry about that. It just gets to these parts that always seem like good places to stop and post, so I do. Hope you all don't mind. So, in other news, I just remembered that there was this fanfic site that was in beta where you could upload pictures and music to put in the stories... Does anyone have the address to it? I had an account, and I was planning on posting this story there, as well, but I can't seem to remember. :D Anyways, I told myself I wouldn't but I am anyways: please review! I love to read them and it helps me get new ideas going! (I did mention I'm making most of this crappy fic up as I go, right? xD)**


	5. In Which The Plot Starts to Move

**QwQ I like how I post one night and then the next morning I've already got 10 e-mails pertaining to the story. And also that, as I'm writing this, it hasn't even been twelve hours since I posted the last one and I already have 587 hits on the story (in comparison to the entire ONE hit/visitor I got on what used to be my main story, "The Rebellion" 3:) ! W I'd like to thank the uesp wiki and the harry potter wiki for making this story more true to cannon, and all the lovely subscribers and reviewers that I got e-mails about.**

It was night. Ma'rik had just sneaked out of his dorm- it wasn't hard, Michael snored so loudly that he would have been hard-pressed to make enough noise to wake _anyone_ up. It had been almost a week since school started- none of Ma'rik's teachers knew what any sort of magic he talked about was. He had awed several students with his Magicka Pockets, making himself feel very, _very_ embarrassed. He made sure to only take things out when no one was looking. Terry was the only one who didn't seem to mind the odd things Ma'rik talked about- mostly, Ma'rik figured, because he would make a point of at least pretending to listen when Terry went on about all of his odd conspiracy theories.

It was Turdas, coming upon Fredas, and that meant Sneak lessons. Antoinetta was waiting for him down near Hagrid's hut as usual.

"Hello, Brother!" she greeted cheerfully. "I see you're doing alright."

"A lot better, now," Ma'rik replied, grinning. "I think these lessons are going to be my favorite part of the week."

"Still not teaching you anything useful at school, eh?" Antoinetta shook her head. "We should talk to Lucien. You shouldn't have to stay here, if you're not learning what you want."

"I dunno, it might get better." Ma'rik shrugged. "And Alchemy 101 isn't that bad. Terry blew up another potion, today, though."

"Anything interesting come out of it?"

"Well, no more rifts, but he managed to turn that Granger girl into a rabbit." The two snickered.

"Let's get started, then," Antoinetta said. "Hagrid left to go for a walk just a little while ago, I think he ran out of firewood. Your job for tonight is to find him, and follow him through the forest until he comes back to his hut, in which case you'll scare him from behind." Ma'rik nodded.

"Alright. Sounds good to me." Ma'rik shrugged and crouched, slowly entering the forest, wincing as dry leaves and twigs snapped under his feet. Antoinetta chuckled.

"You're in for a long night, Lachance."

Ma'rik proceeded to snap almost every twig he came across, most with a quiet swear. He could tell that Hagrid knew someone- or possibly something- was following him, and he didn't seem to mind. He would, every now and then, toss some raw steak out, as though expecting a large, hungry timber wolf to come charging at him. Ma'rik was somewhat disgusted with himself.

He followed the large man around like this for the better part of two hours before he sighed to himself in frustration and quietly climbed up a tree. It was a particularly windy night, and so, he timed his leaps and scrambling with the wind, covering the sound of his movement with the rustling of the leaves. Hagrid soon seemed to forget he was there, and went about his business in the Forbidden Forest, following small puddles of some odd, metallic green, slimy substance. Every now and then he would shake his head and mutter something. Ma'rik frowned. What was so important about that slime? He settled down on a branch as Hagrid took a moment to look around where he was and continue muttering to himself.

Was it some sort of rare slug? Or, maybe, it was a rare poison that had been used in a hunt, and now Hagrid was looking for his fallen prey? Ma'rik was so lost in thought that by the time he noticed Hagrid had began moving, he was already far in the distance, and Ma'rik was forced to leap from tree to tree without his cover of the wind. Hagrid whirled around, his eyes narrowed, as Ma'rik landed not-so-quietly on a tree near him.

"Who's there?" the large man demanded. "I know yer out there! Now come 'ere before I shoot yeh!" He raised a crossbow, scowling at the treeline. Ma'rik swallowed, hard, and subconsciously began to back up. He snapped a twig growing from the tree and inwardly swore. Hagrid's eyes immediately locked on his position, and he shot, the bolt missing Ma'rik's head by mere centimeters. Ma'rik blanched.

He hoped Antoinetta didn't send him in here knowing about Hagrid's crossbow and very good aim.

"Not gon' come out, eh?" Hagrid asked. He took aim again- and this time Ma'rik could see that the bolt was aimed, somehow, perfectly dead center between his eyes. He had to give Hagrid credit- to be able to aim at something you could barely see was true skill.

"D-Don't shoot!" Ma'rik cried as he saw Hagrid reach for the trigger. "I'll come down!" He saw confusion pass Hagrid's face, and resisted a smirk. He gently lowered himself from the branch and dropped, bending his knees to absorb the impact better. Hagrid blinked.

"Harry? What're yeh _doin'_ out here? And why were yeh _followin'_ me?" he asked. Ma'rik smiled sheepishly.

"I go by Ma'rik Lachance, actually." He shrugged. "As for why I'm out here and following you... I was practicing Sneaking."

"It's way past yer curfew," Hagrid said, his brow furrowing. "And yer not s'pposed to even be out here, the forest is off-limits to students." He shook his head. "But I'd really like to know why yer skulkin' around... Tell yeh what. Why don' yeh come and have tea with me t'morrow after classes? We c'n talk then."

"Oh... sure." Ma'rik grinned. "Only if what _you're_ doing out here will be open for discussion, of course." Hagrid laughed.

"O'course, o'course, it's not really much of a secret. Come over 'round three, we'll have loads of time to talk." He gave Ma'rik a pat on the back that nearly knocked the poor boy to the ground. "Can yeh get back on yer own alrigh', or do yeh need me to walk you out?"

"I'll be fine on my own. Thanks, Hagrid." Hagrid smiled and waved as Ma'rik left and wandered out of the forest. Antoinetta was waiting for him, talking with the centaur she'd scared the previous week. They were busy laughing at a joke the centaur had just told. They attempted to calm down when they noticed Ma'rik walk up to them, an eyebrow quirked.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"Nothing at all," the centaur replied through his giggles. Antoinetta turned her gaze back to the centaur for a moment.

"It was a pleasure talking with you, Bane. I can assure you, our Sanctuary will support your herd whenever you need us." She broke off to giggle some more. "I have to take my Brother back up to his dorm."

"Likewise," Bane replied with a smirk, inclining his head. "I should be getting back, as well." He reared up on his hind legs and with a powerful whinny, he charged into the forest.

"Seriously, what was so funny?" Ma'rik asked suspiciously.

"Don't worry, Lachance." Antoinetta scruffed up his hair affectionately and Ma'rik scowled. "So, how did your sneaking go?"

"Bad at first, and then alright for a while," he replied, shrugging. "I started using the trees and wind for cover. But then I got distracted and he noticed me and nearly shot me. He would have, too, if I hadn't come down." Antoinetta shook her head.

"Oh, you still could have salvaged that. We'll have to work more on it later. So if you failed so miserably, why do you look pleased?" It was Ma'rik's turn to laugh, now.

"Oh, Hagrid invited me over for tea, tomorrow... or would it be today...? Anyways, Fredas afternoon, and he said he'd talk about what he was doing tonight. It looked rather interesting." Antoinetta looked interested, at least mildly.

"Oh? And what was he doing?"

"Oh, nothing." Ma'rik smirked as Antoinetta scowled and began to chase him back into the castle. Oh, yes, Turdas nights were his favorite by far.

Morning came and Terry made the mistake of trying to wake Ma'rik that morning, because he was afraid that said Lachance was going to miss breakfast, and that was when Ma'rik _really_ got pissy. The poor Ravenclaw found himself soon with his face being ground into the floor, and arm twisted painfully behind his back as Ma'rik cursed and swore in Ta'agra and held his Blade of Woe firmly to the Ravenclaw's neck. After a moment to calm down, Ma'rik growled angrily and removed himself from Terry's person before stowing his knife back in his Magicka Pockets.

"What the hell was that all about?" Ma'rik snapped. Terry's brow furrowed in some sort of attempt at a scowl.

"That's what I'd like to know," he replied. "Do you _always_ sleep with a knife under your pillow?"

"No," Ma'rik replied. "Just when I sleep in beds that aren't my own." Terry sighed and shook his head.

"Well, as much as I can appreciate being cautious, you don't gotta here at Hogwarts. I mean, just to get into the common room, you have to answer a riddle, and even though the students from other houses can get in if they really wanted to, who besides a Ravenclaw would want to take the time to try and figure out the answer?" Ma'rik snorted.

"No one. That's why they _aren't_ in Ravenclaw."

"Exactly. Now stop being paranoid and let's go down for breakfast." Ma'rik smirked and dressed before following Terry out of the common room and down the stairs to the Great Hall, taking care to jump over trick steps along the way. They sat next to Lisa and Anthony (Michael, it seems, had already long eaten and left), and as Terry turned to talk with them, Ma'rik began selecting his breakfast items and pouring himself a glass of pumpkin juice.

It had been a mere whim when he looked up at the staff table, watching as McGonagall chatted with Flitwick. Snape was busy listening to Madame Pomphrey, and on his other side, Dumbledore engaged in conversation with Professor Quirrel about the young adult vampire romance novel said DADA teacher had his nose in only minutes before. It had also happened at that precise moment. The instant Ma'rik's eyes began to flitter away from Quirrel and Snape (who were sitting right next to each other, for some reason), he felt a sharp pain in his scar. He hissed slightly at the unexpected pain, and his eyes widened as they froze on Snape, and then slowly moved towards Quirrel. And then, with a frown, he turned his gaze away to the other side of the table, finding Hagrid amongst the teachers. The large man smiled and waved. Ma'rik smiled back- and his pain faded. He quickly glanced away and back towards Quirrel and Snape with an incredulous look. The pain began again.

"Ma'rik, why are you glaring death at Professor Quirrel and Professor Snape?" Lisa asked, poking at her hashbrowns. Ma'rik broke his gaze away and smiled.

"No reason. I don't like them. Not that they did anything to deserve it. It's odd. I don't know which of them it is," he answered. Lisa raised an eyebrow.

"Uh-huh. Alright." Apparently unconvinced of his sanity, she went back to talking with Anthony. Terry looked thoroughly amused.

"Oh, really?" he commented lightly. "Is that all there is to it?" Ma'rik mimicked the same expression right back at him.

"Maybe I'll tell you later. Do you want to come to Hagrid's with me?"

"You two are going to Hagrid's?" Ma'rik and Terry turned to find one red-haired first-year Gryffindor gazing awkwardly at them.

"Yeah," Ma'rik replied, giving the boy the once-over. "Why do you ask?"

"You prolly don't remember me, huh?" the boy replied. "I'm Ron. Ron Weasley. Hagrid actually invited me down to visit him this afternoon. I thought he'd like to meet you, too, Harry, so I was going to come over and invite you."

"Why don't we all meet in the Great Hall and go together, then?" Terry suggested, smiling. "Three's a crowd and all that."

"Alright. I'll see you guys down here after class." Ron smiled and excused himself, heading back to the Gryffindor table to sit down with Dean. Terry, meanwhile, checked his watch.

"Hey, we should go. We've got Herbology, and I'd _hate_ to miss it." The sarcasm in his voice was evident. Ma'rik snickered.

"I like Herbology. It's close enough to Alchemy to be fun."

"Shut up, Ma'rik. No one cares about Herbology except the Hufflepuffs."

"What's wrong with Hufflepuffs?"

"They're the ones who weren't awesome enough to get into any of the other Houses."

"Psh. Sounds like Hufflepuff needs some love. Let's start a Peeps for 'Puffs club."

"Over my dead body."

"That can be arranged."

Herbology didn't pass quite quickly enough for Terry and Ma'rik, however, as they were both very anxious to go visit Hagrid. Sadly, the Herbology lesson had been a lecture, instead of practical as the class was getting used to. Professor Sprout discussed the Devil's Snare plant, and demonstrated the most effective means of dealing with them.

"The best way to dispose of the Devil's Snare is by using fire," she told them, producing a small flame on the end of her wand. She proceeded to near the flame to the small sample of Devil's Snare in front of her, and the class watched, somewhat interested, as the Snare tried to bend away from the fire, letting out a weird sort of hissing-shriek sound. She went on to discuss proper care and maintenance as well as uses and magical properties. It seemed the Snare was very resistant to frost and lightning, but it had a very strong grip, and it was difficult to cut. Due to its hungry nature and disregard to anything- even its caretaker- it wasn't the most ideal guard-plant.

When the class was over, Ma'rik and Terry went back to the Great Hall for lunch and to begin working on some homework for the weekend. They chattered vaguely about the chapter in Potions they had to read before the next class, and the essay they were working on for Quirrel about basic defensive spells, such as the basic shield charm, _Armis_, which could block some jinxes and hexes, but was easier and faster to cast than the much more advanced _Protego_ or the Patronus charm. Before long, they were joined by Ron, and they all greeted each other before heading merrily on their way to Hagrid's house.

"Hey, you lot," Hagrid greeted, smiling at the three from behind his bushy beard. He was holding back an enormous black boar hound that was slobbering all over the place as he invited them inside.

"Hello, Hagrid," the three chorused. They were ushered to a large round table in the middle of the hut where they sat down, and Hagrid poured them some tea.

"Everyone bin havin' a good time with school so far?" the giant of a man asked.

"It's brilliant!" Ron exclaimed. "We're learning how to change water into rum and back in Transfiguration, and a lot of different ways to hold wands in Charms- I never knew, y'know, the differences the wand position can make. And Quidditch try-outs are coming up soon!"

"So's the sign-ups for the dueling club," Terry added. "But only third-years and up can join, so I'm a little jealous. But at least we'll get to watch, and if things go well they'll be having some duels with Bauxbatons and the Salem Witch's Academy. I think Durmstrang, too."

"No one teaches Conjuration," Ma'rik said dryly. The other three were silent.

"You conjure in charms," Terry said after a moment.

"It's not the same." Ma'rik sighed. "And there's no destruction magic class. The duels sound like they'd be a little bit boring. No atronachs, no Fire Bolts..." The silence was awkward until Hagrid cleared his throat.

"That reminds me, Ma'rik," he said. "What were ye doin' skulkin' 'round the forest?" Ron and Terry turned to him.

"You went into the forest?"

"You didn't bring me into the forest with you?"

"I was practicing my sneak lessons, like I said," Ma'rik replied, smiling vaguely. "It was a condition for me to attend this school. I have to keep up with my training."

"What kind of trainin'?" Hagrid blinked.

"Oh, well, you see, because of where I live, some things must be taught to assist me in survival. Those things are combat and stealth. That is what I am being taught by my Family so I can resume life as normal when I return."

"Combat, eh? Well, that'd do yeh a lot of good in life either way." Hagrid nodded sagely. "It teaches a lot'o discipline, it does." He turned his gaze to Ron. "How's Charlie doin' in Romania?" As Ron launched into story-mode, talking about dragons and whatnot (Ma'rik was positive that he was making it all up- Ma'iq couldn't be wrong) , Ma'rik sipped his tea and glanced down at the table. The newspaper there, the _Daily Prophet_, had an intriguing headline: **Gringotts Break-in Latest**. Idly, he picked it up and flipped through it, reading the story in its entirety.

_Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 June, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown. Gringotts goblinstoday insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day. "But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon. _

"June 31st?" Ma'rik murmured. "That was the same day Snape took me to my vault. We may have seen the perpetrator and not have even known it..." He paused. "You know... I bet it was the Grey Fox..."

"Ah," Hagrid said upon Ron finishing his stories of Charlie's dragons, "saw the headline, did ye? I'm glad I got te the vault when I did. There's no tellin' how bad things could've been if I hadn't."

"You were the one who emptied the vault?" Ma'rik tilted his head. "What was in it?"

"Ah, nothin' ye gotta be worryin' yerselves over," Hagrid replied. He shifted slightly in his seat. "It ain't important, at all."

"If it's not important, why don't you tell us what it was?" Terry cocked an eyebrow. Hagrid muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "damn Ravenclaws" under his breath.

"Look, ye don' need to know anythin' 'bout it." He stood to grab the kettle and top off their teas. "It ain't somethin' for ye to be meddlin' in." He hastened his speech as he saw the trio about to retort. "C'mon, now, hurry up and finish yer tea, gotta get ye lads back in the castle before curfew." Ma'rik scowled as Terry and Ron shrugged. As soon as they had finished their tea, Hagrid hustled them out of the house, and with a wave, shut the door.

"I guess we'll head back to the common room?" Terry asked after a moment. Ma'rik shrugged.

"Sure," he answered. "I have nothing better to do, anyways."

"I wonder what was in the vault," Ron said thoughtfully.

"Maybe it was a dragon egg," Terry said conspiratorially. "Did you see the look he had in his eyes when you were telling him about the dragons your brother was working with?" Ma'rik rolled his eyes.

"Oh, for the love of Sithis, Terry, that's just ridiculous," he snorted. "I mean, one, dragons that come down this far to the surface are invisible, and two, can you imagine someone trying to raise a dragon in a flammable hut?"

Once in the Great Hall, Ma'rik and Terry bid Ron goodnight as they split up to go to their respective towers.

"You know, today wasn't half-bad," Terry said as he hopped into an armchair by the fire. Ma'rik stretched out by the couch next to him.

"It could've been better," Ma'rik replied, shrugging. "We could have actually learned something about the break-in."

"At least we learned about the break-in."

"True." The two sat in silence and stared at the fire for a little while. Ma'rik was just about to doze off when Terry spoke.

"So... what was that breakfast this morning?" Terry asked. Ma'rik shrugged.

"When I looked up at the staff table, I got a scar-ache," he replied simply. "From Snape and Quirrel's general direction." Terry frowned.

"Has this happened before, then? This... scar-ache?" Ma'rik shook his head.

"This is the first time ever," he admitted. "Except perhaps for the night I got it." Terry looked thoughtful about the fact.

"Tomorrow's Saturday," he said. "So, let's study in the library after lunch. After we get our homework done for Monday we can research curse scars and see if this should mean anything significant to us." Ma'rik cocked an eyebrow.

"'Us'?" he repeated. Terry glanced at him.

"Well, yeah. Us. We're friends, aren't we?" Ma'rik paused at that. He hadn't exactly considered Terry as a friend, before. More of a constant human convenience, for the fact that he saved him seats and talked at him. But then, he did listen sometimes when Terry talked, so he supposed that would be talking _to_ him? Either way...

"...Yeah," Ma'rik said after a moment. "Yeah, I suppose we are." Terry grinned.

"Great! So, after we finish our homework, we'll research some things." His smile was contagious.

"Sounds like a plan." Ma'rik sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his head on his fists. "So... chess?" He jerked a thumb in the direction of one of the vacant chess boards in the corner.

"Sure!" Terry hopped up and scurried over. "I call white!"

"In which case I suppose I'm black."

"Alright, my move, first..." They found themselves playing until dinner.

"Hey, wait a second!" Ma'rik cried just as he finished his last bit of potatoes.

"What?" Lisa asked from across from him.

"I never found out what Hagrid was doing in the forest!"

**A/N: Er... well, this was slightly longer. I'm hoping to work my way back up to my usual thirteen pages per chapter, but since the first two books are somewhat short anyways, they probably won't get much more than 10-11 pages. In other news, I've given up on that beta site I kept ranting about. I'll just put any pictures of my stuff up on my deviantart, so check it out. The link's on my profile. Now, see that lonely little review button down there? I think he wants to be pressed. :D**


	6. In Which There are Dogs and Brooms

**:D Sorry for the wait, everyone! Here's a shiny new chapter just for you!**

"So, wait, when you say that salamander blood produces a warm feeling when ingested, why is the Wiggenweld Potion cold when you drink it?"

"We just went over this, Boot. It's because of the mint and the asphodel."

"Yeah, but those aren't exactly magical, are they?"

"It doesn't matter, they cancel it out."

"I still don't think it makes sense."

"Look, do you _want_ to fail the essay?" Ma'rik leveled Terry with an annoyed stare. Terry sighed.

"No..."

"Then trust me and I'll explain it to you later."

"Fine..." Terry added the final few lines to his essay, blew on the ink to dry it, and rolled the parchment up. "This better get at least an Acceptable, I'm warning you now." Ma'rik rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. But now that we're done with all that, why don't we start on our extracurricular research?" Terry visibly brightened at that.

"Don't mind if I do!" he replied. The two boys eagerly hopped to their feet and began perusing the shelves; Ma'rik found himself in the Defense area, while it seemed Terry had found the Healing area. "Do you think they have any classes for Healers?"

"I dunno," Ma'rik replied. "You'd think if they did they'd have a couple mandatory for first years. We seem to hurt ourselves a lot." Terry hummed his agreement and pulled several books off the shelf before going back to his seat and cracking one open to the index. "Let's see... _The Duelist's Guide to Jinxes and Curses_... _Common Counterspells_... _The Patronus: A Step-by-Step for Beginners..._" Ma'rik frowned. Nothing that screamed 'curse scar' at him. He pulled _the Duelist's Guide to Jinxes and Curses_ as well as _Common Counterspells_ and sat down, beginning to flick through them idly. Both he and Terry repeated this process of scouring the shelves, finding nothing useful, and pulling random books down before they found it.

"Ahh- Ma'rik!" Terry said excitedly, sitting up a little straighter. Ma'rik blinked.

"What?"

"I found something!" Ma'rik leaned across the table to stare at the book upside-down.

"Well? What does it say?" he prompted. Terry quickly scanned the section.

"Er... okay, so curse scars are scars left by powerful spells, dark magic, because light magic jinxes, it doesn't curse. Uhhmmm..." He scanned it again. "For the first few months you have it, it says they generally hurt a bit, but after a while it stops and they'll only react to strong dark magic, which is why the Ministry hires lots of Aurors with curse scars. It says it's also possible to get a curse scar from a hex, but those are few and far in between because curses are stronger and more often used for fighting."

"Is there any way to get rid of it?"

"No, but there are ways to keep the pain from getting too intolerable. Though I dunno why you'd need that at Hogwarts..." He flipped the page. "Oh, and it says you'd need a glamour stronger than the curse itself to hide it." Ma'rik groaned and face-tabled. Terry snickered.

"Well, well. If it isn't Potter and Boot." Ma'rik pulled Terry's book and turned it so he could read it as Terry looked up to meet the new voice.

"Oh. Hey, Draco," Terry greeted dully. Draco Malfoy, in all his platinum-blond Slytherin glory, crossed his arms almost lazily and gave some sort of attempt at an arrogant smirk.

"I saw you two talking with Weasley yesterday at breakfast. I didn't think you would be closet Gryffindors," he said. Terry shrugged.

"We're not," he replied. "He just happened to overhear us talking about visiting Hagrid and decided to join us in the afternoon." Malfoy snorted.

"Weasley _and_ Hagrid?" His lip curled in a sneer of disgust. "They're all nothing but blood traitors. You shouldn't soil your name by associating with them."

"I'm half-blood," Terry deadpanned.

"Exactly!" Malfoy agreed. "You need to overcome your Muggle heritage and prove yourself a true Wizard!" Terry scowled at him.

"I'd watch your tongue if I were you, Malfoy," Ma'rik said lightly as he continued perusing Terry's book. "One day you might find yourself without it." Malfoy turned his gaze to Ma'rik and scoffed.

"Are you _threatening _me, Potter?"

"Lachance," Terry and Ma'rik corrected at the same time. They exchanged an amused look for the briefest of moments before turning back to Malfoy.

"And, yes," Ma'rik continued. "Yes, I am. We were just reading about curse scars, you see. And how to inflict them." He held up one of his books for emphasis. Malfoy sneered.

"Well if you think you're all that, then I challenge you to a duel!" he announced. "Thursday night at midnight, in the trophy room. No one ever goes there."

"Alright," Terry agreed. "I'm his second. Who's yours?" Malfoy paused.

"Crabbe," he eventually said. "Thursday at midnight- don't get scared and call it quits!" He turned and dramatically stormed from the library. Terry watched him go before taking his book back from Ma'rik.

"So we actually gonna go?" Ma'rik asked, leaning his head on his palm. "It's probably a trap."

"Now, now, Ma'rik," Terry said lightly. "Where's your sense of Gryffindor adventure?"

When the two had finished at the library, they returned to the dorms and spent the rest of the day going back over their notes from the past week, trying to determine what materials could possibly on tests. They were eventually joined by Anthony and Michael, and Ma'rik decided to break off from the group there and work on his Conjuration theory. He spent Sundas training with Antoinetta in the Forbidden Forest and returned just in time for dinner, where he got the oddest looks from his peers as he proceeded to ignore them all, pile food onto his plate, and eat without any form of table communication at all. Afterward he went to hang around in the Ravenclaw common room, putting his skills to the test- he successfully bound not only a helm, but gauntlets and greaves as well, courtesy of his wonderful new wand. Honestly, the boy didn't know where he would be if he didn't have the thing. Morndas and Tirdas were rather boring, besides Alchemy 101 and DADA, the former in which Terry blew up another cauldron and the latter in which Ma'rik experienced a very real pain in his scar every time Quirrel turned his back to the class. Middas turned up boring classes, as well, as Ma'rik couldn't quite bring himself to care about turning a needle into a match or making a feather float. And when Turdas came, well, he was very much excited- his first attempt to put his sneaking to the test where his Sister would not be able to come help him if he got in trouble. He waited anxiously through his classes, too excited to even sleep in History of Magic, and fidgeted all through dinner. He knew, of course, that it was most definitely a trap- all this talk about Slytherin cunning, they'd try and exploit anything they could before actually fighting themselves. But, as Terry continued to say, you didn't need to be a Gryffindor to have a sense of adventure- and you _absolutely_ had to have one if you lived in Cyrodiil.

"This is such a horrible idea," Terry said, grinning, as they rendezvoused in the common room late Turdas night. "I'm _so_ ready for this!"

"So, question," Ma'rik replied, "why are we doing this even though we _know_ we're going to get caught?"

"Don't tell me you wanna back out!" Terry laughed. "C'mon, didn't you ever want to be the 'bad boy' back home? Let's break the rules for once!" Ma'rik smiled almost patronizingly at that and followed Terry out into the corridor. The brass knocker stared at them disapprovingly as they passed by, but the pair paid it no mind and continued on in the direction of the stairs. They had barely gone five feet when Terry tripped over something and his face became rather acquainted with the stone floor. "Ack!"

"Hnn?" the thing grunted. "Terry? Wha're you doin' out so late...?" The thing rubbed his eyes and yawned before slowly pushing himself to his feet; Terry rose as well. Ma'rik was able to see that the thing was not a thing at all, but Michael, who had an impression of the floor on his cheek from where he had been sleeping.

"Hey, Michael," Ma'rik greeted. Michael gave him a sleepy wave in reply.

"We're gonna go walk into a Slytherin-trap," Terry replied. "Come with us! We'll need all the brain-power available to get out of it!" Ma'rik laughed a little on the inside; Michael looked way too tired to be thinking properly. But he was somewhat surprised when Michael rubbed the sleep from his eyes and nodded, stretching.

"Alright," he said. "Let's do this bad boy. What's the trap?"

"Classic, duel in the trophy room," Terry replied. "And if Malfoy actually shows up, he'll probably have both of his little gorillas with him, so either way you need to come."

"Wicked." Michael grinned. "Shall we, Ma'rik, Terry?" Ma'rik couldn't help but smirk.

"We shall." And the three were off; Michael and Terry sneaked awkwardly, trying to simply tip-toe around the castle; Ma'rik was crouching as Antoinetta showed him to, clinging to the wall and peering around corners before beckoning his friends on. They managed to avoid the ghosts and Filch on the way down to the Entrance Hall, and quickly went into the Trophy Room and began to wait. It was not quite midnight when they heard footsteps. Quickly, Terry and Michael ducked under a table, and Ma'rik pressed himself up against one of the darker corners.

"...out of bed...!" a voice floated to meet their ears. Ma'rik could barely make out Michael and Terry exchange grins. Of course it was a trap. It was _Malfoy_ they were dealing with after all. Ma'rik glanced around the trophy room and cast Void Gazer on himself. Immediately he could see every detail of the room as if he were a Khajiit himself, and though the only colors he could see were now varying shades of blue, the fact that he could see at all was comforting. While Michael and Terry were discussing the best way to distract Filch (because it was _obviously_ the caretaker, just by the mere sound of his voice), Ma'rik was doing the more sensible thing- trying to find an exit- and as luck would have it, he did.

"Terry, Michael!" Ma'rik hissed. "This way!" The two stared at him blankly- he had to remind himself that they hadn't cast any sort of Nighteye, yet. "I found a door!" They immediately brightened.

"Oh, spiffing!" Terry pulled himself out from under the table and over to Ma'rik, and Michael followed him. They had almost made it to the door when Terry decided to accidentally knock over a trophy- which knocked over another trophy, which knocked over _another_ trophy, which knocked over _ANOTHER_ trophy, which knocked over a _plaque_, and the process just continued from there.

"AHA!" Filch's voice came from right outside the door. "STUDENTS IN THE CORRIDORS! STUDENTS OUT OF BED! I'LL STRING YOU ALL UP BY YOUR _THUMBS_, YOU LITTLE BRATS!"

"RUN!" Michael cried. Forgoing any sort of sneaking whatsoever, the trio made a mad dash out of the trophy room and down the corridor. Ma'rik cast a glance over his shoulder and could make Filch out far behind them, barely able to keep them in sight. Terry quickly took the lead, taking them past classrooms and trick doors until they came to a dead end with a single locked door.

"Oh Merlin it's locked!" The three were beginning to panic. Terry turned to Michael. "What was the unlocking spell? Do you remember the wand movement?" Michael was too busy hyperventilating to hear him.

"Oh Merlin... oh, Merlin, I can't get caught, I just can't!" he said. "My parents would _kill_ me, I'd get detention, I'd... I'd...!"

"Oh, for the love of Sithis, move over!" Ma'rik growled. He stared at the lock for a moment before pressing his palm to it and focusing, whispering softly the words of power in Akavir. The lock suddenly sprung open, and he opened the door, pulling Terry and Michael in with him. He peered out the keyhole as he watched first Mrs. Norris, Flich's cat, strut up and stare unblinkingly at the door before meowling and turning away. Filch arrived soon after, panting.

"I coulder sworn they went this way...," he wheezed. "No one here... gotta catch the students... C'mon, my sweet..." Mrs. Norris meowled again and ran ahead of Filtch as he left. Terry breathed a sigh of relief.

"Good thinking, Ma'rik," Terry said, grinning at his friend. "Man, good thing he thought the door was still locked! I guess he didn't know they'd been teaching us _Alohamora_ in class... ...Ack, _that's_ what the incantation was, I can't believe I forgot it!" Ma'rik chuckled.

"The brainy types don't handle well under stress, do they?" he teased. "You're just lucky I was here, or you both would be dragged down to Filch's office." Terry laughed as well.

"Uhh... guys...?" Michael said and Ma'rik looked to him, only to find him as pale as the Grey Lady, and trembling. "I... think we might want to run again..."

"Why, what's up?"Terry asked. Michael pointed into the room. Terry and Ma'rik turned around.

There, standing before them, was positively the largest dog Ma'rik had ever seen. It seemed it barely fit in the room; its ears scraped the ceiling and three pairs of glowing red eyes were trained on the small boys. Yellowed fangs snarled menacingly as saliva dripped down. Of course, it wasn't the beast's immense size or demonic color scheme that was frightening- no, the fact that it had three heads and could easily eat all three boys at one time easily took the cake.

"I think running's a brilliant idea."

* * *

"Oh, Merlin..." Terry shuddered as he picked up his fork. "I didn't sleep at all last night."

"Scared it was gonna find you and eat you?" Ma'rik asked lightly, playing with his Canadian bacon. Terry glared and then pouted.

"Yes. But did you see that thing? It was HUGE!"

"I did see it, in fact. It barely fit in the room."

"I mean, honestly, what are they _thinking_ keeping that _thing_ in here? This is a _school_ for Merlin's sake!"

"Why don't you ask Hagrid?" Terry blinked.

"Hagrid? Why Hagrid?" Ma'rik shrugged.

"Just a hunch. Its foodbowl in the corner said 'Fluffy' on it. When Hagrid was talking about wanting a dragon, he said a good name for one would be 'Puffly'. See the theme?"

"Ah... so it's just Hagri'd pet puppy that eats students. Okay, makes sense. But why was it inside?"

"Once again, I suggest the Philsopher's Stone."

"Terry... c'mon. Philospher's Stone in a school full of children? What, does Dumbledore _want_ thieves and murderers to come and kill us all to get it?" Terry seemed to have to pause and consider Ma'rik's question. Ma'rik simply rolled his eyes. "Really, Terry, the sensible answer would be 'no'. He could get fired. Or something."

"Well... you know, I _have_ heard he's been a bit off his rocker since he had to fight Grindelwald...," Terry said quietly. "I bet it was because they were secretly in love or something." Ma'rik shook his head.

"Honestly, with all the conspiracy theories you come up with, it's a wonder you _ever_ get to sleep." Terry simply shrugged. Ma'rik went back to picking at his breakfast. "So, I hear we have flying lessons today. I suppose it's too much to assume that we'll be learning Mysticism?" Terry shook his head and gave a small chuckle.

"Ma'rik, we're gonna learn to ride _brooms_. Honestly, I don't understand all this weird magic you talk about. It's like the wizards where you're from don't understand magic at all." Ma'rik pouted and leaned his head on his wrist.

"That's not true at _all_. You'd be amazed by the what the mages back home can do. Chain lightning, frenzy, summoning... 'Course, Necromancy's been banned, but I've still run into a couple necromancers out in the wilderness. They're cool, even if it's all kinda gross."

"You'll have to show me some day." Terry grinned and jerked his head towards the Entrance Hall. "C'mon, let's head out to the pitch. We'll try and get some of the better brooms." Ma'rik shrugged one shoulder non-commitedly and stood, following Terry out. Terry ranted on and on about his conspiracy theory concerning the Philosopher's Stone, and also a bit about all the odd magic phrases Ma'rik kept spouting at him. Ma'rik didn't listen to him all that much; he was busy trying to think of what could possibly be under the trap door Fluffy guarded.

It wasn't more than thirty minutes later when the rest of the first-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs came out to join them on the pitch, each of them going to stand by s different broom. Terry had already pointed out the one he thought Ma'rik should use- standing up, it reached to about his chin, and the wood was a little bit heavier. Terry had said something about it keeping him from being blown around too much if there was too much wind. Ma'rik honestly didn't care much. He wanted to learn levitation spells, especially since the Cyrodiil Mage's Guild banned levitation spells citing too many deaths from careless use. Thinking about that always put him in a bad mood. Madame Hooch, the flying coach, came out and began barking orders at them, staring them down with her sharp, hawk-like eyes. Ma'rik didn't even bother to pay attention to her, and so when Terry was nudging and hissing at him to pay attention and he found all nineteen other students, plus Madame Hooch herself, staring at him, he blinked and felt somewhat embarassed.

"Mr. Potter," Madame Hooch said sharply, "I do believe I just told you five times to call your broom." Ma'rik scowled and then pointedly ingored her. "Mr. Potter!"

"Er, Madame Hooch, sorry, but...he only responds to Ma'rik Lachance," Terry said timidly. Madame Hooch's eyes twitched, and she sighed heavily.

"Mr. Lachance. Call your broom." Ma'rik inwardly swore. He was sort of banking on the name confusion to buy him some time for this one, actually. Everyone watched him expectantly as they clutched their own brooms to them (honestly, could Terry have not told him when they had started?). Ma'rik wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to be doing, but he figured, why not, he could show off for once. At least to get the Ravenclaws off his back about Arcane magic. He knew a very basic telekinesis spell that would allow him just enough time to lift the broom into his hand; and so, making a grasping movement with his hand, he focused his Magicka and cast the spell _Butterfinger_ that he'd learned from a wandering mage. The broom glowed with a neon purple light and Ma'rik made another grasping motion; the broom shot upwards, towards his gesture hand, and he plucked it from the air. The rest of the class continued to stare, looking somewhat confused.

"How'd you make it glow, Harry?" Justin Finch-Fletchley asked from somewhere down the line. Ma'rik ignored him and awaited further instructions from Madame Hooch, who wa seyeing him suspiciously.

"Mount your brooms," she said after a second. The class unanimously threw their legs over their brooms and straddled them, gripping the handle uncertainly. "Now, I will blow my whistle, and I want you to kick up from the ground, hard. You will hover several feet in the air until I blow my whistle again, and then you will lean foreward, and touch back down. On my whistle- three, two, one-!" The whistle shrieked, and everyone pushed up from the ground- some with a little more difficulty than others, Ma'rik noted. But he didn't seem to be one of them, despite never having flown a broom before. It was odd... he felt perfectly at ease on the broom. Madame Hooch blew her whistle again; with a little disappointment, Ma'rik touched back down. Madame Hooch watched them approvingly. "Good job. Much better than the Gryffindors and Slytherins, at any rate, we had a broken wrist in the class yesterday and I'm positive Weasley and Malfoy got a detention from their heads of houses. Alright, now we're going to move onto breaking..." And so the lesson went with minimal interest. Ma'rik found he rather enjoyed flying, much more than he originally thought he would, and so he was starting to become interested in this 'Quidditch' game everyone kept talking about. He'd have to ask Terry about it later. Also, it seemed Madame Hooch had decided he wasn't half-bad after all; she praised his form the most out of the rest of the students and mentioned something about how he would definitely follow in his father's footsteps, something about actually _playing _Quidditch. Ma'rik wasn't too sure about that- he'd never even seen a game. For all he knew, he could hate it, and then proceed to find some other racing broom-related club.

After flying lessons were over, it was time for lunch, and Ma'rik hummed contentedly as he brought his broom to Madame Hooch and paused to wait for Terry. It was as they were walking back towards the Great Hall that it happened.

"What was that, back there, Ma'rik?" Terry asked quietly. Ma'rik blinked.

"What do you mean, Terry?" he replied, innocently. Terry frowned.

"What you did to call your broom. You didn't do it like everyone else. How did you make it glow? How did you do it without a _wand_?" He stopped in his tracks, and so did Ma'rik.

"Mysticism," Ma'rik replied simply. "It's probably the most basic Telekinesis spell ever invented, because it takes very little effort to master. The guy who taught it to me called it _Butterfinger_. It lets you control an item that's three or less feet away for about ten seconds, though you can cut it off beforehand. I use it when I'm too lazy to ask someone to pass something at a meal."

"So this Arcane magic... you're not making it up, are you?" Terry asked, now a little more awed than concerned. Ma'rik shrugged one shoulder. "Ma'rik that's so cool! Do you think you could teach me any?"

"Well..." Ma'rik thought on that for a second. "I guess so. It might help you, at any rate." Terry fist-pumped.

"Wicked!" he exclaimed. "Oh, and I'll help you with your Charms and stuff, too, so-"

"I don't care about the magic here," Ma'rik said bluntly. Terry frowned again.

"Why not?"

"It's not _real_ magic. Arcane magic _is_." Terry sighed.

"Ma'rik, you're over-reacting. Obvious where you come from, the magic is much different, but you _did_ come to this school by your own free will, and even if it isn't what you were expecting, you should at least give it a chance."

"But...!" Ma'rik protested. Terry cut him off again.

"Oh, c'mon, Ma'rik, what would humoring the staff harm, at the very least?" he asked. Ma'rik sighed.

"It wouldn't, I guess. Fine. If it means _so_ much to you, I'll put some effort into it." Terry grinned.

"Excellent." And with that, the two friends walked back into the castle and ate lunch.


End file.
